Valley of Darkness (The War in Heaven, Book I)
by QuantumSheep
Summary: The galaxy is in a state of relative calm. Earth has been safe from alien threats for over a decade. Some old friends and a few new faces are called together for an important mission, only for events to rapidly spin out of control. Foes, both new and old, make themselves known. Nothing will ever be the same again.
1. Prologue

**Summary:**

_Well over a decade has passed since the defeat of the Goa'uld, the Ori and the Replicators. It is a time of relative peace within the Milky Way galaxy. Some old faces, and a few new ones, find themselves brought together in order to revitalize a de-funded stargate program, only to face off against a foe that will take the fight to Earth's very doorstep. Enemies abound, both among the stars, and even upon Earth itself._

* * *

**Prologue**

Each footstep took a little more effort than the last. Each breath a little shallower than the one that came before it. The muscles in his arms and the legs ached, almost screaming from the constant, prolonged exertion. Heart pounding, sweat building under the armoured suit. Specifically, the sleek rubber under-suit that was beneath the black armour plating. It clung to him like a second skin, as was its intended function, the lightweight but durable armour plating atop it serving as an adequate layer of protection from all manner of small arms. Even so, he did not feel comfortable getting shot at. Each errant staff blast that zoomed on by him carried with it the chance of death, or crippling injury. His armour might have been good, but a direct hit from the likes of a staff weapon would be enough to put a severe crimp into his day.

Within the fortress grounds, he found himself funnelled through one narrow, winding lane after enough. Stone and gravel was underfoot, the sky above crisp blue and the searing alien sun only serving to make him all the more uncomfortable. He pumped his legs and his arms as hard as he could. A short distance ahead, perhaps only several paces, his compatriot and commanding officer lead the way. Clad in rugged black armour, his face concealed underneath a scuffed helmet and gold-tinted visor, the officer moved with somewhat more confidence. Commander Corasar seemed to have an unlimited supply of stamina, and the younger soldier almost envied him for it.

Valkas kept on moving, their pursuers not far behind. Exhaustion was seeping into his every muscle, the aches and pains it brought only further hampering his run. Still, he pressed on, recalling some of the lanes they passed through from when they had first infiltrated the fortress. Further behind them, the fortress keep itself stood tall and stalwart, all brown and grey sandstone, arches and spires. The symbol of the Eye of Ra was adorned over the front steps, a large golden ornament that served to inform newcomers of the one who had dominion over this land. And for all these years, the people here had continued as normal, waiting for the 'sun god' to return. Rumours of his death had spread, certainly, but no one here believed them. Not when they were used to his long absences from this otherwise unremarkable planet.

Little could be seen of Valkas' actual form, covered in armour as it was. It was rugged black and grey plating, the red-and-black symbol of his battalion adorned upon the shoulders. Yellow trim worked its way around his pauldrons and along his chest plates, representing his overall rank: Sergeant. Corasar's armour bore a more elaborate golden-trim pattern, indicating his much higher station. It had been unusual, for a veteran of his standing to come on this mission with only a Sergeant for support, but it was proof of his trust in the young Sergeant, not to mention the importance of this reconnaissance mission. A mission that had, by and large, gone horribly wrong.

Somehow, they had been discovered. Ambushed so near to their intended objective, they had been forced to shoot their way out. And that they had, exhausting most of the charge in their weapons in order to emerge on the outside. Now it was a matter of getting back to their shuttle, which was easier said than done. Although it was unlikely their enemies had discovered their carefully hidden escape-craft, to get to it they had to make their way through a maze of old tunnels and sewers. And that required getting through the small 'town' that lay within the grounds of the fortress itself.

Closely packed sandstone hovels and the like lined the lanes they crossed, with a mostly human population present. Peasants, mainly, although none were likely to be friendly to the two of them. And with the alert sounded, the civilians had cleared the streets and disappeared indoors. This made it all the simpler for the warriors present to chase down the fleeing pair.

Above, the scream of a 'death glider' made itself heard, roaring over the fortress city. Three of them, in fact, zooming along in a triangle formation before two broke off in opposite directions in order to better widen their search. Valkas glanced up and saw one of them swooping down low, skirting just above the tops of the surrounding buildings. It did not fire at them, not when the warriors in pursuit were so near to the intended targets, and certainly not with civilians hiding within the nearby houses.

Commander Corasar skirted around a corner, taking them westwards, towards the nearest wall. It was a tall, twenty-foot stone wall at that, and it ran its way all around the perimeter of the fortress city. At the very base of it, nestled in a ditch that ran between homes, was a partially open drainage grate. Murky water had filled the winding ditch to about knee-height, and the smell was rank, to say the least. Still, seeing it there told them both that they were at least halfway back to their intended destination. And here, Corasar stopped, booted feet sloshing through the water. Valkas joined him at the grate, the voices of the pursuing warriors echoing down the street. They were deep, augmented by the elaborate animal-inspired helmets they wore. It would be moments before they were on top of the pair, leaving them little chance for rest.

Corasar checked his plasma rifle, the inside glowing a blue-white as energy sizzled within it. Even so, the readout on the side of the weapon told him that there was only a minimum of power remaining. Valkas did the same with his rifle, finding it to be in much the same state. He had no side-arm, unlike Corasar, and in its place had brought a combat blade. Whatever good that might do him now, he could not be certain.

"Did you confirm the package?" Corasar turned to the Sergeant, his voice stern through his helmet's vocoder.

"That's what you're worried about?" Valkas had lost all thought about their objective once the mission had been blown. He had been far too concerned with escaping this place in one piece, something that became less and less likely with each passing moment. "I had no time to search the armoury. They were on us as soon as we were through the door."

"So we don't know it's there?" Corasar's voice developed an angered edge. Valkas frowned, not that this could be seen through his visor. "I need some kind of result, Sergeant. It was your task to confirm that what we were after…"

"It was here. Yes, I know, Marshall, but I got a bit distracted, as you can probably imagine." Valkas did not normally speak to his commanding officer in this way, but the situation was straining him as it was, so he supposed he could be forgiven for a little bit of insubordination. Judging from the way in which Marshall Corasar tensed, he thought that maybe the veteran might get angry, give him a verbal hiding for his insubordinate tone. However, before anything of the sort could occur, one of the loyal warriors stationed here appeared at the top of the ditch. Outfitted in elaborate bronze-coloured armour and white wrappings, the blue eyes upon the animal-head helmet glowed brightly. Staff weapon raised, the end of it sizzling with barely-contained energy, the warrior took aim in the seconds it had taken for the pair to turn their attention to him.

Both soldiers fired, blue bolts of light leaving the barrels of their guns before striking the warrior in the chest. Smoke and sparks erupted forth, and the smell of burning flesh became evident as the warrior came tumbling down into the ditch, staff weapon leaving his grip. His body splashed into the dirty water next to the pair, ending up face down, the staff weapon landing in the reeds by his corpse.

Straight away, Corasar had pulled open the drainage grate. He plunged headlong into the murky depths of the drain, the stench of mud, sewerage and general waste-water both thick and pungent within the rank confines. Valkas followed, keeping an eye on their rear as they progressed into the tunnel. It was only just large enough for them to stand in, booted feet sloshing through the water and the mud. Valkas glanced ahead as Corasar forged a path, taking them back the way they had come through the wall.

It had been deemed too dangerous to use the stargate. Said gate was located within a courtyard outside of the fortress. It more or less served as a glorified delivery service as raw naquadah was shipped off-world. Other than that, it remained still, standing sentinel before the fortress itself. To have used it to come here would only have blown their cover straight away, and an overbearing amount of guards had prevented them from using it as a means of escape. Corasar had opted to go back through the wall, however troublesome that might have been, in order to reach their shuttle.

Working through the tunnel, it became apparent that their pursuers had followed them inside. Rounding a corner, the first staff blast that followed them lit up the dim interior with a bright, rapid-moving yellow glow. And then it flared suddenly, as it struck the wall behind Valkas, a large puff of smoke erupting forth. Pieces of stone tiling fell away, each one rendered hot from the impact, sizzling as they struck the water underneath.

The pair pushed on. Valkas fought against the urge to slow down, as his weariness threatened to overtake him. The thought of the warriors some ways behind them kept him going, as did the thought of his imminent death. He had been trained to be a soldier like any male of his species, and this was far from his first mission. However, it was the first that had gone as wrong as it had, and this was after Corasar had assured him that the threats they were up against were fairly minor. The minions of some long-dead System Lord hardly seemed worthy of fear, yet right now, they were doing a fairly good job of sending him running.

Rounding a corner, the pair emerged out of the other side of the city wall. Before them was a rocky slope, hardly a sheer drop but certainly rough going. Water drained down a naturally-eroded channel that worked its way along the face of the slope and amongst the rocks. Rocky barrens and the occasional spot of dry vegetation opened up before them, all cast under a deep blue sky and a young, blazing yellow sun. Valkas' visor adjusted accordingly to the change in light. Some way ahead was a set of rocky passes that worked their way amongst hills and dunes. Hidden somewhere among them was their escape craft, cloaked from detection both visibly and to any sensors their pursuers might have had at their disposal. That was still a good few kilometres away, and with death gliders surveying the desert from up high, it seemed very much unlikely that the pair could make it there unmolested.

"Keep up, Sergeant." Corasar checked the display pad at his left forearm. There, a small map of the region had appeared, with a red blip indicating the location of the ship. He slung his rifle around one shoulder, freeing both hands for the climb downhill. Valkas did the same, able to hear the heavy footfalls of their pursuers echoing from down the drainage tunnel behind him. They were unrelenting, perhaps unusually so. By intruding on their domain, had these two interlopers somehow insulted the people here? Or were they spurred on by the fact that both intruders were of a species none had encountered before?

No, Valkas realised. It was because this place had been a closely-guarded secret for centuries. If these two intruders got away, it would only bring more attention. Getting hold of the location of this place had taken some doing, now it appeared as if the reconnaissance team was about to leave empty-handed. Hardly the kind of result the higher-ups back home were after.

They were halfway down the rocky slope when the first of the armoured warriors emerged from the tunnel. A staff blast hit the rock closest to Valkas on his left, causing an explosion of dust and debris that made him stumble. He swivelled around as he fell, arm unslinging his rifle as he went. Falling against the rocks at his other side, he used them for support as he raised his weapon and returned the gesture. He planted a bolt of energy into the warrior's helmeted head, blowing open the face-plate and searing away whatever face the warrior had had underneath. Bone and metal fused together, flesh charring from the heat of the blast. The warrior fell forwards, tumbling down a set of rocks before landing awkwardly, the fall enough to have twisted one leg into an unnatural position.

Valkas turned back around and continued after the Marshall, as they neared the base of the slope and the rough terrain of the surrounding desert. The howl of a death glider became apparent as the pair rushed for the shelter of the nearby rocky pass, and Valkas turned around in time to see the winged craft swooping in for an attack. The pair of forward-firing cannons fitted upon it let fly with a volley of yellow pulses, each one sending up a flash of flame and a plume of dirt as they struck the ground nearby. Valkas dived to one side, landing behind a gnarled, alien tree. Dirt showered upon him, each impact causing the ground under him to shake. As for Corasar, he kept on running, heading for the narrow passage ahead that lead in the general direction of their ship.

Valkas took a moment to get back on his feet. Head turning back to the wall, he could see about half a dozen staff-wielding warriors coming down the slope after them. Some had taken up position to fire at the exposed pair. Ahead, Corasar kept pressing on. Valkas took aim at one of the warriors, firing a volley that sent him darting into cover. Above, the death glider was turning around to make another pass. A second glider appeared, moving in from the south.

The pair's chances of escape diminished by the second. Valkas turned back around, rifle in one hand as he charged after Corasar. As he neared the corner, another volley of staff blasts found their way towards him. One came in low, striking him in the back of the left leg. His armour absorbed much of the impact, but the searing energy bolt was powerful enough that some of the heat went through to the flesh underneath. The pain was sudden and intense, and the sheer force of the impact sent Valkas falling. He stumbled, struggling to remain upright as burning hot pain worked its way up the back of his leg. Despite his best efforts, he fell flat on his face, barely able to break his landing with his hands out in front of him.

His rifle fell from his grasp, and his hands scrambled in the dirt for it. Further ahead, Corasar had paused, having heard his subordinate's pained yelp. The yellow visor of his helmet fell upon the wounded Sergeant, and for a moment there it appeared as if the Commander would come back for him. Valkas tried to scramble back upon his feet, but his left leg refused to properly obey the commands his brain sent it. Pain overtook every muscle in the limb, and he could feel the sweltering sensation of metal and rubber having fused to flesh. Had the armour not been present, he might very well have lost the limb entirely. As it stood, he had little chance of walking at a reasonable pace anytime soon. Even if Corasar came back for him, he would be a liability. Valkas knew this, and Corasar no doubt did as well.

Valkas looked straight towards his commanding officer. Their eyes met through their visors, at least as best they could given the golden-yellow tint that hid their faces entirely from outside observers.

"Commander…" Valkas called, although he was not at all certain why, or what he was going to say. Would he beg for rescue? Request to have his commander carry him across his back? It was not dignified, hardly fitting for a soldier of his calibre. Yet the desire was there, that hope for rescue, of some kind of attempt at self-preservation even.

The warriors in pursuit would be on them within moments. Corasar appeared to make a decision then and there, as he levelled his rifle towards his subordinate, intentions clear. Neither of them could be taken alive, it was something both had accepted when being placed on the mission. There was too much both of them knew, sensitive information that could benefit even these backwards, remote System Lord lackeys. Perhaps, even, Corasar felt that he would be doing his subordinate a favour. Death before dishonour, spare his Sergeant the humiliation and pain of interrogation and torture.

Valkas was on his knees then, and he had little chance to say anything further when his commander shot him. The bolt hit him square in the chest, blowing a hole through the left-hand chest plate on his armour. The world around him seemed to spin, a burning sensation enveloping his torso as it did so. Valkas fell backwards, smoke wafting from the impact point on his armour. His vision grew hazy, his strength leaving him suddenly, his body wracked with an intense pain that threatened to overwhelm all his senses. He was bleeding, not to mention the hole that had been shot through him. Suddenly struggling for breath, he worked one hand up to his helmet, finding the release at the neck and pressing it.

Ripping off the now claustrophobic headpiece, Valkas allowed his naked eyes to gaze up at the blue sky above. He could hear footsteps, those of the pursuing warriors, marching towards him. Corasar was gone, pushing on ahead, not even bothering to check if his shot had had the desired effect. No time for that, not with the enemy hot on his heels. As for Valkas, he might have been dying, he could not be certain. Amber eyes looking skywards, he found himself overcome with an odd serenity, as if everything was going to be all right. Maybe that was just a means by his brain to keep himself from panicking, or more likely a result of the mix of painkillers and whatever other calming chemicals had been injected into him by the automated systems of his armour suit. No use panicking, not when he was on the verge of dying.

Unfortunately for the blue-scaled alien warrior, death was a long, long ways off.


	2. Ruminations

**Part One  
****Fortress**

**Ruminations**

January 15th, 2022

"If there's one thing this place doesn't need, it's more bureaucrats." Eyes cast upon the 'gate-room' (officially known as the 'Embarkation Room'), Brigadier General Floyd Janssen made sure his overall disdain for the increasingly convoluted system was clear in his tone of voice. This place had seen its fair share of political machinations, even more so in recent years, and many an important, even world-changing, meeting had occurred within this very conference room. The place itself had not changed much in the intervening years, since the Stargate Program's heyday; still with its utilitarian grey walls, flags in the corners and computer displays here and there. The technology had certainly improved, of course, and what might have once been old CRT monitors were now state-of-the-art flat-screens with all kinds of fancy high-resolutions. Janssen had never kept up with all the tech, he was old-fashioned at heart, and this in turn likely came with his age: fifty-two, within that dreaded 'middle-age' where he had often associated as the point where things started to go seriously wrong with one's body. Thankfully, the worst thing that had happened to him so far was a minor pain in his lower back.

"I agree, General." Seated at the glazed mahogany conference table behind him, Major Gordon Wade nodded eagerly. He was a younger man, late thirties, and he was dressed in the grey uniform of an Air Force officer, specifically an officer who was stationed on board one of the several star-ships in the service of the United States Air Force. The patches at his shoulders displayed an illustration of the Earth, overlaid with the pyramid and sun symbol that was the planet's point of origin on the stargate network. This, in turn, was underlaid with a silhouette of the vessel Wade served upon as second-in-command: the USS _Midway_, named for the well-known battle that had occurred in the Pacific Theatre during World War Two (and not for the ill-fated space station that had once hung between this galaxy and another). It was one of the newer vessels, the BC-306s, one of three that had finished construction a few years ago.

Janssen was in his blue uniform jacket, an old wooden pipe in his left hand, one that he rolled between his fingers absently. It was an old family heirloom, given to him by his grandfather who had, for some of his younger years, actively smoked all manner of plants with the thing. Janssen did not smoke, that was one vice he had actively avoided all his life, but the pipe was something he kept around. It felt good, having this small token present. Feeling it in his hands helped him to focus his thoughts, and right now he needed a good deal of focus.

Catching his reflection in the window overlooking the gate-room, Janssen was once again startled by how old he thought he looked. Crew-cut grey hair, stubble around his mouth and on his chin, his face weathered by age and a lot of time spent outdoors; he sometimes wondered if he was fifty-two, or really sixty-five. Maybe it was the job and the stress it sometime brought, or maybe he just needed a holiday. A few weeks somewhere tropical might help make him look young again. That, or just badly sunburned.

Wade poured himself a glass of water from the pitcher on the conference table. According to the digital display on the wall behind him, it was shortly after midday. The Cheyenne Mountain Complex, specifically the section that comprised Stargate Command, was fairly quiet. Very little in the way of actual stargate-related activities were in progress, save for one or two patrols. It had been this way for months, and Janssen sometimes wondered why he even remained here. If they got defunded again, the whole place was likely to shut down.

"But, and this is a big 'but'," Wade added, as he took a sip from his a glass of water. "It's the only way they'll keep this place running, General. You've seen the writing on the wall, along with everyone else here. Too many people in powerful positions see this place as a hazard. Something bad could come charging out of that gate at any moment, iris or not."

"Nothing of the kind has happened for years." Janssen looked down at the stargate in question, standing dormant at the end of the embarkation room. Even in its inactive state, one could not deny that there was some amount of majesty to it. The aura that emanated from it was one of mystery, and despite all the discoveries made through using it, there was still much out there they knew little about. The universe remained a mysterious and dangerous place, and this was unlikely to change no matter how many fancy pieces of alien technology they brought back with them through the stargate.

"The IOA has nothing but its own interests at heart," Janssen said. He turned around to look at Wade. "They've been wanting a bigger piece of the pie for years. And now they're going to get it."

"It's only an advisor…"

"First, it's an advisor. Then it's a team. Followed by a committee. And before you know it, this whole place is full of them." Janssen sighed, a resigned one at that. "I thought, when I took this position, that I could keep the place alive. Landry sure as hell wanted it to keep going. But every year, the budget gets slashed. Further and further. Money gets relegated to the star-ship program, or to other programs, or Area 51. Any number of things that aren't here, yet this is the place that started it all. Without Stargate Command, we could never have achieved what we have. Most likely, we'd probably have been subjugated by the Goa'uld or something."

"You talk about setting a precedent," Wade said. "What if you're right? What if this is the start of something bigger?"

"What do you mean?"

Wade gave a light shrug. Janssen had known the man for years, they even had the occasional barbecue together. Wade's wife was an excellent cook, not to mention all too eager to babysit Janssen's two granddaughters.

"I mean, the IOA or whoever else gets a bigger stake in this place," Wade explained, and judging from the look on his face, he had been thinking it over carefully. "They get a bigger stake, they get control even, all before full disclosure."

"That's crazy." Janssen shook his head. This was one subject he had always been adamant about. Even after all these years, to disclose the full extent of what had been going on under the noses of the American public would be disastrous for just about everyone. The likes of Watergate and Iran-Contra had nothing on the Stargate Program.

"I know you think so, but they're a civilian organization." Wade was onto something here, Janssen realised. And it unnerved the General greatly, as he had never really thought about it in this way. "The public would be much more comfortable with a civilian organization in charge, than the military."

"The public doesn't normally know what's good for them. But what you say makes sense, Gordon. And I don't like it. Not one bit." Janssen scratched at the stubble on his chin, mulling it over. He did need a shave, now that he was running his fingers across it. A General did need to look tidy after all.

"Do you know who this 'advisor' is?" Janssen asked. Wade shook his head.

"I told you what I know," he replied. "But the guy's actual identity isn't something I'm privy to. In fact, I don't think it's even been decided yet."

Janssen nodded in acknowledgement.

"It's good of you to let me know," he said. "Because at least now I know to expect the phone call. That way I won't get so angry over the line." It seemed every week something came up that thoroughly angered him. Nosy politicians, budget cuts and now intrusive bureaucrats in league with an organization that thought it could get away with just about anything. He despised the bureaucracy, if only because all it did was get in the way of his work. If these people had it their way, they would make someone file a form just to use a public toilet.

"So, when are you scheduled to leave?" Janssen asked, putting aside the unfortunate topic of disclosure for now. "They sending you far?"

"I'll be gone in a week," Wade said. "There's a whole lot of space out there that no one's seen, and we're going to go see it. Do the whole 'seek out new life' thing."

"They're sending you and the crew off on some far-out space adventure, yet the very thing that can transport you instantaneously to other planets is getting thrown to the wayside?" Janssen gestured in the general direction of the stargate to emphasise his point. "I swear, I don't understand that at all."

"Like I said, General, too many people in high places with bad ideas and the pull to implement them. Be glad this place still has enough money to keep the lights on."

"That ain't cheap, you know."

"Is anything, these days?" Wade gave a shrug. "You know, if you're worried about the funding, I reckon you could turn it around if you impressed the right people. Show that there's still a genuine, practical use for the stargate, other than taking samples from alien planets and potentially being a means for aliens to get a foothold on Earth."

"What did you have in mind?"

"Nothing clear-cut. Just a thought I had. If you pulled off a mission that gave some genuine results, something solid that could even be brought before the politicians in charge of funding this place. Something that could convince them that Stargate Command is still relevant, that the stargate is more than just a glorified piece of décor."

"If only it was that easy. I don't think we've pulled a useful piece of tech from anywhere in the galaxy for a decade. We've got our ships, we've even got a means of teleportation. The Stargate Program has just about run its course. Just how much more do we need?" Janssen recalled what Hank Landry had told him, the day before he had accepted the position here. _Keep the place alive. Ships and lasers can only do so much. It's the people that count the most._ "They created the program to find technology to fight alien threats. Now, we have the technology and we have no threats. I'm practically little more than a custodian here."

"You sound so negative, General." Wade frowned, and he sounded a little disappointed. Janssen could see what he meant. When he had taken the job here, five years ago now, Janssen had been much more alive with energy and much more eager. Time, and the stresses he had faced, had changed his overall mood considerably. It was funny, how things worked out, how one's energy could be so thoroughly sapped by the reality of their situation. Perhaps he was simply too cynical, but so far this job had been anything but the grand adventure he had thought it would be.

"You never know just how things are going to go until it all happens," Wade added. "Sometimes, you just have to sit back and let life take its path. It sounds like some new-age nonsense, but it's just the way I see it. Getting hung up about things outside of your control is hardly going to help your mood. Optimism, General, that's what I think. It'll do you wonders just keeping a positive outlook."

"I don't want the IOA, or the NID, or the DIA or anyone of the sort getting control here," Janssen stated. He allowed his voice to take on a more hostile edge, his disdain for such organizations readily apparent. "Too many people have given their lives through this program to allow it to be corrupted into something it's not by corrupt government suits. Blood, sweat and tears, Major, that's what's been spent in this place and on worlds far from our own. Allowing anyone to take this place out from under us would dishonour the memories of those who have fallen." He paused, briefly, allowing his words to hang in the air between them. "Well, that's just the way I see it." He managed a slight smile then, using Wade's turn of phrase in his own manner.

"Maybe. But like I said, just see where things go. It's all you can do right now, General. And as much as I'd like to stay and help, I got a mission to go on, far from here." Wade took a sip of water, his expression thoughtful, as he considered what else to add. "You never know, though. The way to get this place back to its former glory could come barging in at anytime."

Janssen let out a huff in reply, unconvinced. There was a lengthy pause then, neither of them with much more to add to the matter. Janssen recalled that he had some reports to finalise, so there was at least a couple hours of work left to do before he could call it a day. As for Wade, he would be off to Area 51 to catch a ride to the USS_ Midway_, which hung in Earth orbit as it was prepped for its mission.

"It was good seeing you again, Gordon," Janssen said, as he stepped over to the table. "Even if the circumstances were not as good as I would have liked them to be. We'll have to catch up proper sometime, maybe over a few beers."

"Or a scotch."

"You can stick to the spirits," Janssen countered. "Beer's as far as I'll go."

Wade rose to his feet, finishing off his glass of water as he did so.

"I guess this will be it then, for a good while," he said.

"You enjoy yourself out there," the General said. "Enjoy your time away while it lasts. Send me a postcard, even."

"I'll do what I can."

Janssen was about to put out a hand to shake with the Major, when a familiar alarm chime sounded throughout the facility's announcement system. Red lights flashed, and activity flared up in the gate-room.

"_Unscheduled off-world activation."_ A technician's voice filtered through the speakers dotted about the facility, driving everyone within to a state of alertness. _"Response teams to the gate-room immediately!"_

"I better go check this out," Janssen said, glancing at Wade before he started for the conference room's exit. A set of metal stairs lead straight down into the control room a floor below, and Janssen strode down them quickly, with Wade following a few paces behind. Inside the control room, displays and lights blinked and flashed, warning indicators and diagnostic readouts flitting across LCD screens and the like. A cluster of technical personnel were in here, seated at their assigned stations or moving between control panels and monitors. Through the windows ahead, the stargate had lit up, each orange chevron along its diameter flaring up with imbued light. All seven activated quickly, and straight away the metal of the protective 'iris' swept in from the inside of the ring, folding against themselves to form a tight series of curved, concentric joins. A very careful design, one that even Janssen did not properly understand, as it somehow allowed an event horizon to form within the microns of space between the metal and the point in which the portal formed.

There was an audible _whoosh_, and blue light swept out from the rear of the stargate as the event horizon swept into existence within the ring. A handful of armed Marines stormed into the gate-room then, taking up positions by the gangway ramp with their rifles raised. A standard precaution in a situation such as this.

The technician seated at the main control panel glanced up at the General.

"We're getting an ID now, sir," he said. "It's SG-6."

"Very well, open the iris." Janssen watched as a few key presses deactivated the protective shield, causing the metal to recede back within the ring itself. The shimmering, water-like event horizon behind it was then revealed, casting a pulsing blue glow across most of the gate-room. There was a pause, as the technician transmitted the go-ahead signal, thereby alerting SG-6 that the iris was disengaged. Straight away, two of the team members emerged from the standing energy puddle, with another two following suit. None of them seemed the worse for wear, so their abrupt return did not indicate that they had met with trouble. Rather, it was the figure that the latter two dragged between them. The last two members of SG-6 came through at that point, with one of them giving a thumbs-up to the control room. That done, the technician switched off the stargate with a quick command from his terminal.

Straight away, the alarm bell ceased and the red lights switched off. The Marines in the gate-room relaxed, clearing the way for the team and their strange new quarry. Janssen's eyes were drawn to the alien two of the team members carried between them, and he was reminded of something reptilian as he looked upon it. Maybe such a term was not adequate to describe an alien, as who knew what the creature's properties truly were? Reptilian suggested cold-blooded and egg-laying; for all he knew, this latest find could have been the complete opposite. Still, that did not discount the dark, almost black, scaly skin and bony spines emerging from the creatures back and scalp. Dressed in little more than a set of tattered grey trousers, the creature struck Janssen as oddly human in the way it moved, and it did move despite it clearly dazed state. Amber eyes flitted open, scars and bruises evident on much of its body.

Janssen had not seen anything quite like it. The team leader stopped by the stargate's ramp, eyes up to the control room. Hitting a button on the PA system in front of him, Janssen set his eyes firmly on the SG-6 team leader.

"Colonel, I want you, your team and that…" He trailed off, unsure of just what to call their find. "That _creature_ in quarantine right away." His voice sounded loud and clear through the PA system within the gate-room. "After you're cleared, I want you in the conference room for a debrief."

"Of course, General." The team leader nodded his head, before motioning to his team to follow. They filed out of the embarkation room, dragging along their alien 'prisoner'. Janssen had assumed their journey would be a simple survey, like so many before. There were still thousands of stargate coordinates within their databases that had not been properly explored, and teams such as SG-6 were one of a handful gradually checking out worlds that probes had confirmed to be safe for human visitation. Whatever they had found on the other side of that stargate today, it had no doubt proven to be an eventful trip.

Janssen glanced over to Wade, who was standing a little further behind him.

"Like I said," the Major remarked, although his voice was serious. "Something's bound to come your way, eventually."


	3. Training Exercise

**Training Exercise  
**February 2nd, 2022

Area 51 was known by many names. Chiefly, it was a detachment of the Edwards Air Force Base. To many outsiders, it was known as 'Dreamland', such that it was a site that had inspired the imaginations of many people across the world. Under heavy guard, with state-of-the-art security and surveillance systems in place, the airbase was practically a fortress. This did not stop people from the outside setting up camp well beyond the perimeter in the hopes of seeing something unusual, or even alien, flying up high over the compound. The whole region had developed plenty of folklore about the location, rumours and legends that even those who worked in the facility were aware of. In a way, it was convenient misinformation, with the most ridiculous of the stories helping to deflect attention away from those closer to the truth.

Of course, some of those stories pertained to reverse-engineering alien technology. And those ones were, in fact, very close to the truth. Instead of retrieving technology from crashed flying saucers, said tech tended to come from more _glider_-style craft. The latest in a line of advanced space-worthy fighter-craft, the XF-306 had been developed in secret, like so much of what went on at Area 51. Improving upon its predecessors in a number of ways, it retained the mostly grey, angled design of the earlier F-302s, save for a perhaps slightly more sleekly curved fuselage. Two of these craft were currently just outside of a hangar on the main runway, with numerous attending personnel milling about as they prepped them for take-off.

It was sundown, the Nevada sunset casting the sky above a deep orange-purple. Only a handful of clouds were present, with visibility high and the weather calm. The perfect time for a flight.

It took a special breed to fly prototype aircraft of any design. The brave and the reckless, although it was perhaps more of the latter that drove people into such a line of work. And even then, very few made it through the rigorous training required for such a job. As for the pilot in question this evening, she strode confidently out of the hangar, green flight-suit snug against her athletic frame, brown hair tied back and helmet clasped under one arm. Tall and lithe, Captain Joanne Bowers had worked hard to get this far, and after several flights in more conventional aircraft, she had impressed enough people to be put forward for these more specialised craft. She knew that the technology the XF-306 was built upon was not entirely human in origin, and she knew that some genuinely extra-terrestrial items were present on the airbase. Yet she had only been told as much as she needed to in order to carry out her job, and she knew better than to ask too many questions. She would not spoil her career by sticking her nose in too deep into matters well above her paygrade.

Still, she knew of what it meant, to be part of this program. Somewhere, there was a carrier out there capable of space-flight. And she was here to fly in the last of what had been several training exercises, tests really, to determine who would become a part of the star-ships combat fighter wing. There was one place open, that of flight leader, and she intended to become a part of it. For today's flight, she would not be alone. Another pilot would be present, in another XF-306, flying along the same route. All while some advanced surveillance equipment, sensors and general radar would keep track of their every move. They were expected to work together, and would be scored on a number of things, among them their response times and the like. Joanne had gone through the scenario again and again in the simulators. She could only hope her practice in those paid off in the real world.

The open air of the runway was cool, and a chilly breeze swept in from the desert. As Joanne approached the parked aircraft, she watched as a pair of runway technicians closed up a panel on the side of the plane, their pre-flight checks complete. Now it was down to her, and that included a whole list of pre-flight checks of her own before she could even start the engines. The rest of the runway was fairly quiet, devoid of activity even, with the bulk of it all happening in this one active little corner of the airbase. An otherwise quiet night, at least for everyone not involved in this scheduled flight.

A woman of thirty years, Joanne had decided when she had been a mere child what she wanted to do with her life. She had wanted to fly, a desire perhaps spurred on by her father's position in the Air Force. She had made it her life's mission to fly a plane, and she had worked her way through basic cargo transports to the much more exotic and dangerous line of work that was flying for combat.

Joanne was somewhat taller than average for a woman, with sharply defined features and an even balance of athleticism and muscle to her frame. There was a sternness to her overall demeanour that did sometimes dissuade men from pursuing her, even more so if she was in uniform. Again, this was something she did not mind. When it came to the opposite sex, she chose when and where she would do the 'pursuing'. If anything, much of her focus was on her job, and given the inherent dangers involved, she needed to concentrate as much as humanly possible upon it.

A familiar man in an officer's uniform was waiting by the parked fighter craft. It was the General from the briefing, specifically a General Lawrence Ashby. He was in his late fifties, of medium stature, broad shoulders and a face weathered with age and outdoor exposure. He motioned for the Captain to come over, and she did as directed, stopping a short distance before him in the shadow of the parked aircraft. Standing nearby, fitting snugly in his own flight suit, was a man of a similar age to Joanne. Another Captain, one she recognized and whom she had worked with on more than one occasion.

"Captain Miles." Joanne stopped before the pair of them, snapping off a salute to the General. Ashby gave her a curt nod, whilst Captain Todd Miles regarded her through narrowed eyes. He had his helmet tucked under one arm, and the expression on his young face suggested that his opinion of her was far from positive. At the end of the day, this was a competition, and only one of them would get the placement.

"General." She focused her attention upon the older man, if only to keep herself from saying something insubordinate to Miles.

"As we discussed, Captain," Ashby stated, his voice dry. "This is the last flight before we determine which one of you will be granted the flight leader position on the USS _Jefferson_."

"What kind of payload will I be carrying?"

"Cannon rounds, heat-seekers plus two powerful warheads that I'm afraid I can't fully disclose the details of," the General replied. "The kind of thing these fighters would carry into combat."

"Combat with aliens, sir?" She said this half-jokingly. General Ashby shifted slightly where he stood, although his eyes narrowed.

"Just do your job, Captain," Ashby said, putting an end to that line of questioning.

"Understood, General." Joanne knew it was not her place to ask questions. Certainly not at Area 51, where questions tended to be frowned upon. She turned to Miles again, and his blue eyes narrowed towards her.

"You better be careful out there, Bowers," Miles remarked. "No room for cowgirls."

"I didn't think there'd be much room out there for snakes like you, either." She kept a neutral expression, eyeing Miles carefully. He came from a wealthy family, being the son of a bigshot politician. Then again, she could not really hold that against him; her father was a big-name General, although she had made it a point to avoid taking any assistance from him during her Air Force career. She had reached her current status on her own merits, something she could not say of Miles.

Ashby pretended not to hear their exchange as he walked off. Miles frowned, but said nothing more as he turned around and started for his plane. Joanne did the same.

She came to the set of steps leading up to the cockpit of the craft, and there she scaled it quickly and climbed inside. Despite the advanced technology present, much of the control layout was familiar. She had gone through numerous detailed documents concerning the finer points of flying the aircraft, although most of those points were based on what previous iterations of the plane had carried. Each time they upgraded and made further prototypes, changes were bound to occur. Controls that operated a certain way, with a certain feel, might change in a newer model. The simulators were accurate, but there was no denying the difference that came with taking the real thing into one's hands.

Joanne settled into the chair, before donning her helmet and the breathing apparatus attached. Flicking the fighter craft's power on, she heard a subdued hum as whatever exotic power source within the plane kicked into life.

One of the runway technicians wheeled off the steps, before he and the others present began to clear the way. Running through the checklist, handily attached to a clipboard tucked away by the pilot's seat, she carefully mulled over the controls before her. She tested the lights, the main radar display, the throttle and the elevation and rudder controls. Each time, she made mention of it in her radio through to the air control tower and the technicians and researchers eagerly keeping an eye upon the test. It was a fairly slow process, and all Joanne wanted to do was get airborne. Still, she had protocols to follow, as monotonous as they could be. Miles was doing the same, seated as he was in his aircraft some distance off to her left.

She flicked on the tail and wing lights, before finally setting aside the checklist. Gloved hands settled upon the throttle and rudder, and very carefully she put some power to the engine. She heard the hum turn into a much higher-pitched whine, and with a gentle hand she guided the nose of the craft towards the runway.

"_Wolf One, you are cleared for take-off."_ The voice of the traffic controller up in the tower, situated some distance to her right, filtered through the radio in her helmet. _"Let us know if there are any problems."_

"_And that means any at all."_ General Ashby's voice broke in then. Joanne could understand the General's concern, as this was hardly the kind of scenario they would want an accident in. To her left, Miles had received the clear, and was pushing his throttle.

"Understood, sir." Joanne pushed on the throttle before her, and she felt the fighter race forwards, the tug of the building G-forces pushing her back into her seat. It picked up speed at a staggering rate, more so than she had been expecting. Nonetheless, she adapted quickly, rearing back on the stick as the hangars and other buildings to either side of the runway shot on by in a blur. Miles was just ahead, well off to her left, rocketing up and into the air seconds before she did.

Within moments, she was airborne, soaring high above the Nevada desert with a darkening sky above her. Below her, the rolling brown plains of the desert went on for many, many miles in all directions. Somewhere southwards was Las Vegas, and if she got up high enough she would be able to see the city lights. For now, she climbed to a steady ten-thousand feet, keeping alongside Miles as they made their way for the rendezvous point.

"_Put those planes through their paces."_ Ashby's voice again, stating what Joanne already intended. Hitting the throttle, she sent the prototype fighter rocketing forwards. Once the G-forces hit a certain point, the inertial dampeners kicked in, and what would have otherwise been the kind of force to crush someone into their seat became more akin to a casual drive along a remote highway. Another piece of no doubt extra-terrestrial technology, although in a way it felt like cheating. Part of the trick to flying was knowing your limits and using them to your advantage; being able to withstand a steep climb at a high speed longer than the guy on your tail could have been the difference between life and death. Blackout first and you were a goner, although that was if the guy on your tail was dumb enough to follow you into such a reckless manoeuvre to begin with.

Getting rid of the G-forces certainly made for comfortable flying, and she found herself pushing this aircraft to the kind of speeds she would never have previously dreamed of going. Miles did the same, as the pair proceeded to run through the preliminary engine test. She broke the sound barrier far quicker than any conventional fighter plane would have been capable of doing, yet despite the speed involved, the instruments kept up. She knew exactly where she was at all times in relation to the rest of the world, and this allowed her to in-turn follow the planned flightpath without trouble.

There was a rush to be found, flying this high and this fast in a craft that was, in a way, out of this world. It was what she had always wanted to experience, what had drove her to be a pilot in the first place, that notion that she was far above everything else, perhaps even on the verge of crossing into space itself. And that was the next step for her. Once she got this flight leader position, she would enter into a very unusual line of work that few even knew existed.

"_Check in, Wolf One."_ The traffic controller's voice broke her chain of thought. Slowing down somewhat, Joanne responded.

"All good, Home One." She peered out of the canopy and towards the desert below, all jagged, rocky mountains broken up with roads and dry river-beds. "This thing handles like a dream."

"_Good to hear, Wolf One."_ The controller's voice chimed in on Miles' line, as the pair slowed down and headed for the first of the markers, denoted helpfully upon the displays within the cockpits. A low altitude flight amongst the mesas of the Nevada desert, the kind of high-risk manoeuvres that could result in a fiery demise if one was not paying full attention.

"_Proceed to the course start, as marked upon your main display."_

Both craft descended rapidly, taking them to a range of rocky hills and majestic mesas below them. She wondered what the locals down below were seeing, if anything. The place was fairly remote, with the nearest town many miles away. The noise might be enough to wake the neighbours, but around here jets of all kinds were often flying about, whether they be from Area 51 or some other airbase. Hardly suspicious in this part of the country.

Somewhere out there, a flight of three F-302s would be on the prowl, on the search for the pair. They were the 'bad guys' in this scenario, not that anyone would be shooting at one another. Purely simulated comabt, where getting any one of the F-302s on your tail and in a position for a certified kill would result in failure. The first of the two to meet that end would be out, and Joanne had no intention of being that one. She was going to blaze through this course, no matter what it took.

"We're nearing the first marker now, Home One." They came upon a winding valley carved into the desert floor, barren rocky plains on either side, with a highway winding its way off into the far distance. Somewhere out there was Las Vegas, or Carson City. Joanne checked the map on her main display then, making sure they were on course. They were headed north, further into the state of Nevada. There was a whole lot of nothing out here.

They were practically skimming the tops of the mesas at this altitude. The 'markers' were little more than preset points on their maps, and such were not physically present on the flight path itself. Both aircraft remained close, sticking to a basic formation, their sensors on full. In so doing, they would be announcing their arrival to the other flight in the area, as was the intention. Sooner or later, those F-302s would come screaming out of somewhere, forcing the pair to be diligent. Those other pilots would be all too keen to 'kill' the pair of them.

The course took them through much of the state, and back around to Area 51. It was at this point that Joanne hit the throttle again, intent on getting ahead. From this moment on, they were out for themselves, even if they had to stick to their flight-plan. Any major deviations would cause a point deduction, and that could make the difference here between winning or losing. Miles was just behind her, off on her left. The pair of them raced over the desert, and as they rounded one of the larger mesas, a blip appeared on their sensors that could only have been one of the opposing flight. They were racing in from the west, and where there was one, there would be more.

The course took them through the valley, in such a way that they would be almost skimming the desert floor. As such, it was tight in here. There was barely enough room for the pair of them, and Joanne knew that she had to get the lead here, no matter what. Otherwise she would be on the backfoot for far too long and recovering from that would be a problem. All while the opposing flight would be out to get them, with an even easier time of getting on their tail in the narrow confines. As such, it was better to be in front than behind, and Joanne proceeded to push the XF-306 to its very limits.

This whole thing was supposed to simulate atmospheric combat over dangerous terrain, not unlike past engagements with enemy aircraft using the F-302. Apparently, something like this had happened over Antarctica nearly twenty years ago, and again something similar had occurred over Area 51 itself some time after that. All very interesting information, Joanne was sure, except her security clearance had not been high enough to reveal the exact nature of the enemies fought during those engagements.

The valley shot by in a rush of brown. Had the inertial dampeners not been active, she likely would have been squashed to a pulp in her seat. Her hands clenched the controls tightly, knuckles practically white under her flight gloves. Far ahead, coming in from the west, she could see one of the opposing jets. And then, without warning, Miles' aircraft was in front of her, dropping down just ahead as the valley curved slightly.

"Christ, Miles," Joanne muttered, taken off-guard. He was in front of her, and no doubt feeling smug about it. She was going to make sure to wipe that smug look off his face, and so matched speeds with him, all while the proximity alarm on the controls before her started to sound.

"_Back off, Bowers. You'll get us both killed."_ Miles' voice cut in through her helmet's comms. Joanne ignored it, yet the voice that followed his was a little harder to put aside.

"_Wolf One, your proximity alarm is sounding. Back off immediately."_ The controller's voice was level, the very definition of calm and collected. He would have sounded like that, even if they were about to be on the receiving end of a nuclear detonation. Such was the nature of the job.

Joanne had come this far; she was not going to let anything stand in her way. Sure, she could take the lead later on, yet already she could see one of the opposing flight popping up on her main scanner. Right on her six o'clock, moving in fast for the easy 'kill'. Get them while they're low in the valley, almost low enough to leave skid marks in the dirt. Joanne took a deep breath, raising her nose sharply, getting a burst of ascension that put her over Miles. And, in typical fashion, the other pilot tried to counter this as best he could. He matched altitude with her. Up ahead, the valley began to peter out. Only a little more of the tight spacing and…

Joanne's proximity alarm became louder as she swung her nose down. Too soon, she realised, as the end of her right wing clipped Mile's craft. At this speed, even the slightest bit of contact was damaging, and the end of her wing took off much of the end of Miles' left wing. Straight away, his plane began to spiral out of control, as did Joanne's. She fought with the stick, trying to level it off. Dimly, she heard Miles making the mayday call through to control, before he bailed, the cockpit canopy of his plane flying off. He was up and out of there in an instant, parachute opening above him as the prototype aircraft hit the valley floor. There, it exploded into a plume of fire, and Joanne very nearly followed it with her own.

Somehow, perhaps through sheer force of will, she regained control of her jet. Pulling up harshly, she sent it racing over the lip of the canyon, adrenaline surging through her from this near-death experience. Sweat clung to her brow, her lungs heaved with her rapid breathing, hands firmly grasping the controls. And then her mind went to the inevitable trouble she would face back at base. Had she not been covered by the flight suit and helmet with its dark visor, one would have been able to see that she was white as a sheet.

* * *

Questions were asked of her, often repeated, with one meeting after another taking up her time. There were that many different parties involved in the project, with many people searching for answers and some, if not most, had presumably made up their minds when it came to the pilot. Joanne had known that she would be questioned repeatedly as part of the investigation, and each interview only further drained her of her already diminishing confidence.

After days of being kept on base during the investigation, she was finally called to General Ashby's office at ten in the morning, on an otherwise normal day at Area 51. Joanne was in the typical grey-blue slate uniform of an officer on duty in base, the same one she wore when otherwise not flying. Cap on, she made her way towards the base's main administration building, a large cluster of official-looking structures at one end of the compound, a stone's throw from the control tower. Above, the sky was a deep blue, thin wispy clouds scattered across it. Some of the base personnel she walked by did glance at her, and she heard whispers amongst a few of them as she walked past. Rumours were no doubt circulating about the flight, and she knew that many of those here saw her as a loose cannon. Maybe she was just that, it would be down to the people in charge as to what they wanted to do with her.

Ashby's office was up on the third floor of the central building, with a window that looked out across part of the runway. The General was seated at his desk, rifling through some paperwork as Joanne strolled inside. Standing to attention, she snapped off a salute.

"General," she announced, as soon as the door was closed behind her. Ashby motioned for her to take a seat.

"At ease, Captain." He leaned back in his chair, sunlight streaming in through the blinds behind him. A small American flag hung over the window, and a mug of coffee sat steaming upon the General's desk. It was quiet in here, with only the gentle rush of the air conditioning providing any substantial noise. Joanne could feel the cool air rushing out of the vent above her, a much-needed relief from the heat of the desert outside.

"You're very lucky no one was hurt," Ashby stated. He was remarkably relaxed, given the circumstances. "Captain Miles was able to bail out and landed safely in the desert. We were able to pick him up in short order."

Joanne could not help but develop a gradual, sinking feeling. She knew what was coming, even if Ashby seemed intent on drawing it out.

"I called you in here because a decision has been made," the General continued. "Not one you'll like, but you should have known better, Captain. Certainly, it was a high stress, high-risk situation, but the fault very much lies with your actions. Not that Miles is entirely exempt from the blame, but your reckless flying was the trigger for the incident."

Reckless indeed, Joanne thought. What she had done had been foolish, but one could not often determine what exactly was foolhardy during the heat of the moment. That was the trick, was it not? Knowing your limits?

"You pushed too hard, Captain. Your personnel files already suggest you have a volatile streak. I'd say this incident proves as much." Ashby let out a sigh, his eyes meeting with Joanne's. She did not say anything, and instead did her best to retain a neutral expression. "I suppose the people above me thought something like that would be useful on the _Jefferson_, but this latest incident proves otherwise."

"What are you saying?" Joanne knew she should have added 'sir' to the end of that, but her mind was now fixed elsewhere. Towards her future in the Air Force, if there was one.

"You're grounded." It sounded almost ridiculous, something a father might say to a troublesome teen. Yet to Joanne, it felt like a knife in the heart. It was likely to be just the start of it. "I like you, Captain. You're good at what you do, but what you did out there…" Ashby trailed off and slowly shook his head. "I have no other choice. The investigation is still ongoing, but I would not be surprised if you lose your position here. You may even be forced to go back to flying cargo planes. But it's really not for me to say."

"This is crazy," Joanne said, and she could not stop some of the anger she felt from seeping into her voice, beraying the calm controlled exterior she had been exuding. "After everything I've done, I deserve to be flight leader on that mission."

"You don't deserve it anymore than anyone else." Now Ashby's voice took on a much sterner tone. "Don't make yourself sound so entitled, Captain. It's not becoming of you. I suggest you prepare yourself for the worst, as I'm still waiting on further instructions from up-high."

Then and there, she felt as if her entire life was about to be upended. The career she had worked so hard for was about to be taken out from under her, and she knew it was her own dumb fault. That was what made it even worse, and she found herself clenching her right hand into a fist, involuntarily. She would not know what to do with it, though, as she sure was not about to punch the General or anyone else, for that matter. Maybe herself, a possibility she briefly considered.

"I'm sorry, Captain," Ashby added. "But it's apparent to not just me, but those in charge of this program, that your reckless streak is not fit for a flight leader." He paused, briefly, allowing his words to sink in. "You're dismissed, Captain." It was as if looking at her made him feel uncomfortable, and that the best place for her was well away from him. Maybe it was for the best, as for all the support he had provided her, this incident could very easily have felt like a betrayal to him. The thought only made Joanne feel sick, and had she not been dismissed then and there, she may very well have stormed out on her own accord.

Slowly, she rose out of her chair and saluted the General, even if she did not entirely mean it. With that done, she swivelled around and strode out of the chair, using her every ounce of strength to contain the emotions that roiled within her.

* * *

There was a remote inn on one of the highways winding its way across the Nevada desert. It was not far from the base itself, a squat rectangular building with a neon green flying saucer sign over its entrance. It was often a stopping off-point for Area 51 personnel looking for something to eat and a good dose of booze. Outfitted in civilian attire, Joanne had driven out here not long after her meeting with Ashby. For the last half an hour, she had been seated at the bar counter and there, she had slammed down a few shots of whiskey. So far, she was only just starting to feel a genuine buzz.

Midday, the place was getting busy. At least, as busy as a desert tavern could get. At one end, a few guys played billiards; other patrons were scattered about the tables and booths, engaged in meals and conversation. Joanne, in her unassuming black top and cargo trousers, looked more like some kind of female trucker than an Air Force pilot. Eyes glancing up at the television near the corner, she found herself faced with news reports of riots, shootings and natural disasters. Apparently, it was a normal day on planet Earth, and her misfortune seemed miniscule compared to those getting their heads beaten in by riot cops in some far-flung part of the world.

"Joanne?" The voice was recognizable, and she turned to its source right away. Standing a short distance behind her, she found herself looking upon a man in an Air Force uniform, dark blue and studded with ribbons and stripes.

"Can't you see I'm having a bad day?" Joanne turned back to her drinks. The officer sat down on the empty stool next to her, brow furrowed with concern.

"I can see that just fine," he replied. As Joanne went to raise another shot glass to her mouth, the officer abruptly swiped it from her grip. "You know too much of that isn't good for you. And the last thing I want to see is my daughter laid out on the floor. Imagine the hangover."

"That's the whole point," Joanne countered. With an annoyed grimace, she took the glass from her father's hand before raising it to her mouth. Jameson Bowers might have been a General, but he was first and foremost a concerned and caring father. Alcohol was one thing he had not permitted in the family home.

"I came as soon as I could," General Bowers said. "I arrived at the front gate shortly after you left. Some careful deduction on my part lead me here."

"Well, it's not hard to work out. This is the only watering hole for miles." Joanne paused, reconsidering her intention to down this latest shot of whiskey. "So, _dad_, why did you take time out of your busy schedule to come all this way? I didn't realise you had security clearance for Dreamland."

"I know Ashby. I spoke to him over the phone this morning. He told me what's happening, and needless to say I'm not pleased. Neither is he, by the way." General Bowers frowned, shaking his head slowly. "Now, I know what you're thinking. You've ruined your career, and all that. However, I think providence might have smiled upon you this time around, if you pardon the colourful language."

Now Joanne was a little confused. One brow cocked, she turned to her father again, unsure of what to make of him.

"What on earth are you talking about?"

"The next best thing after flying."

Joanne let out a laugh then, shaking her head.

"I don't know what you're thinking of there, _General_, but rest assured my mind's settled on something very different to what you probably have in mind. Because the next best thing after flying, to me, usually involves a handsome young man and a—"

"Could you get your head out of the gutter for one second, Jo?" General Bowers was hardly impressed. Joanne might have been on her way to a drunken stupor, but what she had said was her talking and not the liquor.

"Somethings come up, and I have a friend of mine looking for capable officers," Bowers explained. "Same level as your work in Area 51, but there's no flying involved. I can put your name forward, and maybe he'll bring you on board. But that's only if you want to. Sure, this incident might work against you, but with my word, well…" Her father smiled. "I can pull a few strings. I know you don't like it, I know you don't want my help, but this time around, Joanne, you're not going to be able to convince me otherwise."

Her father could be very stubborn sometimes, a trait she had inherited in some ways. She eyed her drink, and then the General, before she quirked one eyebrow and met his curious gaze.

"What is it?"

"I can't say here. Rest assured, you'll get the full story if they decide to take you on. A special mission, from what I've been told. I can pull a few strings, and have you submitted as a candidate. What do you say?"

Joanne would have said 'no', on any other day. Today, however, was a very different day. With her career as a pilot on the line, she had little else to lose. Besides, a 'special mission' could have been interesting, and if her father was here recommending her for it then it must have been fairly 'special'. At the end of the day, she doubted she would be able to tolerate not having a go for it and be stuck wondering what it was all about.

"All right," Joanne said, her eyes meeting with those of her father's. "Pull those strings."


	4. Safe Galactic Travel 101

**Safe Galactic Travel 101  
**March 14th, 2022

There had been a time when Doctor Daniel Jackson would have expected the worst when giving a lecture. Sure, this had not stopped him from giving them; he had always been willing to speak about his theories, to try and convince people that his suggestions concerning the Egyptian pyramids and the like were not completely crazy. Sometimes, when he had been at his lowest, even he had thought himself a crackpot, and he was well aware that a lot of his colleagues had dismissed him as much. Now, though, all these years later, he was perhaps one of the few people on the planet who could rest easy in the fact that they had been vindicated. At least, to a select group of people he was an expert in his field; to the outside world, Doctor Daniel Jackson, archaeologist with a PhD to boot, had fallen out of the public eye and seemingly disappeared into obscurity roughly about the same time he had made that first trip to Abydos nearly thirty years ago.

How time flew. Just thinking about it made him feel old. He was in his mid-fifties, so he was hardly 'old' by today's standards. He still had a good thirty years left in him, although thinking about that only made him morbidly aware of his own mortality. That, and the many problems one could look forward to with advancing age. As such, he had brought a gradual end to his field work, with only occasional jaunts to far away lands if the need arose. For now, he was content in his newest role, that of an 'expert' on stargate travel. That apparently made him a valuable asset, hence why he had found himself standing before a small crowd of about thirty eager-eyed military personnel, all of whom were, at some point, scheduled to be put through to work on one of the several star-ships Earth now had at its disposal. Not all of the people in the lecture theatre were from the United States; there were a few Canadians, a couple of Russians, one Australian and two young Chinese recruits seated near the front. All highly-recommended recruits to Earth's defence fleet, with varying roles from science to piloting F-302s.

The lecture theatre was fairly large, with rows of seats facing a small stage that Daniel now stood upon. He was dressed in a fairly mundane light brown suit-jacket and similarly coloured slacks, fairly ordinary workwear for this kind of thing. Behind him, he had a sophisticated touch-screen display set upon the wall, one that was a few metres in width with a number of photographs and illustrations currently displayed upon it. To his right was his notebook computer, and by the podium was his suitcase containing some paperwork and his lunch for the day. The whole room was lit in the dry glow of fluorescents bulbs, with the air-conditioning providing a quiet background hum. Daniel, his brown hair close-cropped with nary a trace of grey within it, was in the middle of a talk concerning the kinds of things one might encounter while travelling the galaxy. For Daniel, he was able to speak from experience on some of these things and provide some historical context for what he had encountered. Someone higher-up apparently valued his insight, as he had been offered this job about six months ago and had found himself caught up in it, feeling strangely at home on the academic circuit. It was perhaps a case of coming 'full circle', as he had been doing this very sort of thing back when he had been first approached about the stargate; and now here he was again, different location but same sort of job. Except this time, he did not have people walking out of the lecture hall, shaking their heads and laughing at his apparently idiotic theories. Here, the audience listened carefully, completely attentive, absorbing his every word and even taking notes.

"Many of the civilisations we've encountered out there have been human," Daniel continued, eyes roaming over the scattered audience. The lecture hall was one of several buried within the depths of the Pentagon, the kind of place Daniel himself had never thought he would actually set foot within. Yet for educating people about the stargate and space travel, it seemed the most secure place for it short of doing it at the Cheyenne Mountain Complex itself.

"They all had one thing in common, of course," Daniel said. "They were all brought to their worlds by the Goa'uld. So far, I've given you an overall history of that species. From their origins on P3X-888, to their galactic domination, and more recently, their, shall we say, _disintegration_ in recent years. The System Lords no longer exist as an organized body, but there are still plenty of them out there. Minor ones who have tried to fill the power vacuum, or have simply clamoured to protect what few systems they have still in their control. The Replicator invasion, which we discussed last week, essentially crippled the Goa'uld military completely. It would be a miracle if they ever returned to even a fraction of their former strength, and we can only hope that doesn't happen." Daniel pressed a button on the remote he held in his left hand, the display behind him switched to an overall map of the known galaxy. Specifically, every stargate they knew of was marked, covering much of the Milky Way in a series of small, red dots.

"Of all the enemies we've encountered, the Goa'uld were the most pertinent. They aren't going away anytime soon. Even with what I've said, about them being only a minor problem these days, it still pays to be cautious. We don't know what the remaining Goa'uld System Lords might be up to. As they no longer have the strength to enact any large-scale attacks, they could easily turn to more underhanded means, similar to those that the Lucian Alliance has adopted." Daniel regarded the map briefly, still amazed even after all these years that the Ancients had been able to cover so much of the galaxy with stargates. Granted, only a small fraction of them had been explored. The locations here had been pulled out of the databases of Stargate Command, both from the cartouche found on Abydos, and the thousands added later by other means.

"As for the Lucian Alliance, they've not bothered us for several years. There was some intel gathered a few years ago, that maybe they had problems of their own, infighting and the like, but as it stands we've heard little from them for at least five years." Daniel had never thought much about the Lucian Alliance. Little more than glorified criminals with Goa'uld technology at their disposal, the Lucian Alliance had pulled a few stunts in the past, but in the end they had, from all appearances, collapsed from what Daniel could only assume were internal problems.

"Doctor Jackson." One of the older recruits, an American man who wore a Marine's uniform, raised his hand then. Daniel did not mind taking questions during a lecture, it was probably more of a 'seminar' anyway. They had plenty of time, and he had plenty of subject matter.

"Yes, Major?" Daniel did not recall the man's name, and he certainly could not see the name-tag on his uniform from this distance. The rank insignia was easier to spot, and Daniel had spent enough time in a military base to know what standing this officer had.

"I know it's probably not something I should mention, but I did hear through the grapevine that at least one of the SG teams had learned that the Alliance might have come under outside attack. I'm sure they have their own little fights going on between the different lowlifes running that show, but there's some kind of rumour floating around that they ran into someone else, someone we don't know. Someone with bigger guns than they had." He paused briefly, allowing his words to sink in. "You wouldn't know anything about that?"

"Not at all." This was the first that Daniel had heard about it. He could believe it, certainly, although the thought that there was someone out there capable of giving the Lucian Alliance a hard time was worrying.

"It's just rumour," the Major added. "Probably nothing to it."

"Maybe. But keep in mind, we've barely scratched the surface when it comes to what's out there." He motioned towards the map behind him. "Thousands upon thousands of stargates, all over the galaxy, and we've physically explored, or even probed perhaps less than three-percent of them. The Ancients were thorough, when they set up the network. Most of these probably lead onto barren, dead worlds. Others could introduce us to further cultures taken from Earth and transplanted onto other worlds. However, if there's any truth to that rumour, then we could easily run into whoever's giving the Lucian Alliance a hard time."

"We could run into anything out there." A woman, in her twenties from the look of her, was the one to speak up next. She wore a science uniform, with a Canadian flag as a shoulder patch. "Not just these transplanted humans."

"That's exactly right." Daniel nodded his head in agreement. "The galaxy is a vast place. I mean, I'm not an astronomer, or astrophysicist, but I've seen first-hand some of the dangers out there. That's why we need the likes of the Stargate Program, to serve as that first line of defence against whatever trouble we run into out in that vast, black expanse. I'm sure there are plenty of nasty things out there who would happily subjugate us, or just eat us." He adjusted his glasses slightly, pushing them back up the bridge of his nose. "I could easily spend hours speculating, but I get the impression most of you would get bored."

The door of the lecture hall opened then, and a woman, tall and athletically built, strode in. Her brown hair was tied back into a ponytail, and she wore an Air Force uniform, complete with cap. Daniel did not recognise her, so she was certainly not one of the regulars. Turning to the newcomer, he offered her a friendly smile. The insignia on her uniform denoted her as a Captain.

"Are you here for the lecture?" He asked her. She walked up to the stage, taking the few steps up as to put herself on the same level as Daniel. Seeing this, Daniel frowned slightly. "I was going to say, you're an hour late."

"I'm not here for the lecture, Doctor Jackson." The woman had a manila folder under one arm. She regarded Daniel with a careful gaze, before looking over the audience before them. All eyes were set on her, and this must have amused her somehow since she gave a smirk. "I'm sorry to intrude, but I've had a hell of a time getting here." She turned to Daniel again. "You and I are going to have to speak outside. Your students can remain here. We shouldn't be too long."

"What's going on?" Daniel quirked one eyebrow, uncertainty bounding within him. The Captain just gave him an affable smile and gestured towards the door.

"I have an offer I think a man such as yourself would be hard-pressed to decline," the Captain said. "But it's not something these other people need to know about. Come on, Doctor Jackson. I'll try not to eat up too much of your time."

Daniel looked at her and the expectant gaze in her eyes. This was a woman who would not take 'no' for an answer.

"I'll be right back, everyone." Daniel spoke to the audience as a whole, before he followed the Air Force Captain off of the stage and out the door. The corridor outside was mostly deserted, all drab grey paint and equally drab carpet. At the end of it, sunlight streamed in through a window that overlooked the central grounds of the Pentagon.

As the door swung shut after them, the Captain turned to Daniel.

"I've read a lot about you, Doctor Jackson," the Captain said. "And the rest of SG-1, for that matter. You're practically famous."

"I try not to let it get to my head." Daniel narrowed his eyes. "What's going on, Captain?" He squinted at the name-tag on her uniform. 'Bowers', it read.

"All manner of things, Doctor Jackson." She noticed where his eyes drifted and folded her arms over her chest. "Now, how could I forget the pleasantries? I'm Captain Joanne Bowers, Air Force. I've been attached to the Stargate Program for a solid month now, and I've also been assigned to an important, upcoming mission. One that could do with some veterans in it, such as yourself."

"Me?" Daniel did not bother to hide his surprise. "You came out here to get me?"

"You're the famous Doctor Daniel Jackson." The woman spoke in jest, although there was an element of seriousness to her voice. "There are all kinds of stories about you. How you've died more than once, for instance. You're a legend in some circles. Why wouldn't I come out here to find you? I want to meet the man himself." She paused then, allowing her eyes to look him up and down. "I'll admit, I was perhaps expecting you to be a little taller."

"I'll admit, I've been through a lot. But that's all behind me."

"No, it isn't. You were an active player in the Stargate Program until 2012. That was a Program you helped to found. You know what's happening to it now, don't you?"

"It's getting defunded," Daniel replied. "I have kept up with what's been going on, Captain. My head isn't always buried in some book somewhere."

"The money's being put towards star-ships and other, similar projects. Too many people in positions of power with their own vested interests in these other projects. And there's only so much taxpayer money to go around. If the public knew where their hard-earned money was being spent…"

"They'd riot?" Daniel meant this as a joke, even if it occurred to him that it was probably not far from the truth.

"Among other things." Bowers must have shared similar views. "I'm here to make the Stargate Program relevant again. It's a glorified science expedition now. Teams going off-world to collect plant and soil samples. None of that technology-snatching stuff you and your friends used to do."

"Probably because we have all the tech we need?"

"And that's exactly what the politicians seem to think. You know, there's talk of building a moon-base? Where do you think the money for that is going to come from?"  
Daniel could see her point. The Stargate Program had fallen out of relevancy, now that Earth had star-ships at its disposal, capable of travelling vast interstellar distances without risking bringing any threats back to Earth. At least militarily, as there was still plenty of scientific benefit to exploration through the stargate.

"You know, Captain, there's nothing wrong with collecting soil samples…"

"It ain't going to protect the planet. Unless there's some deadly disease out there and dirt is the only cure." Bowers smirked at her own remark. Despite her generally stern demeanour, she struck Daniel as strangely affable. Her sense of humour was certainly apparent.

"Look, Doctor Jackson, I need an expert on the Goa'uld and Ancient technology. Your name was the first to pop up when we went sifting through the personnel files. You haven't been off-world for close to two years now, and although I don't know you personally, I think a man such as yourself, so accustomed to jaunting off in the stargate, would not say 'no' to an assignment. Especially one that could provide us with some genuinely world-changing technology." She paused then, scrunching up her face a little in thought. "That's about all I can say about it, until the briefing. Of course, it's up to you. If you want no part of it, I'll go find someone else. But as for what I think, personally, I can see this as being sort of fitting. One of the first people through the gate, going off on a mission that could bring the Stargate Program the kind of attention it's been lacking the last few years. If anything, it'll look good to the people in charge."

"You really want me to come along?" Daniel was seriously considering the offer. He doubted the mission would be as 'important' as Captain Bowers was making it out to be, but even so he would be stupid not to accept. Especially now, as he would only regret declining the offer. Twenty-seven years ago, he had received a similar offer in a similar set of circumstances, and it had changed his life. Now here he was again, in a strange kind of synchronicity he could not help but notice. A religious person might have taken it as a sign, as for Daniel, he simply felt it to be a symmetry he would be daft to ignore.

"There's nothing more you can tell me?" He asked her.

"Like I said, not until the briefing. But there's a good chance a person with your knowledge would be very useful. Especially when that knowledge is paired up with some proper combat experience, and I know from your file you've seen your fair share of action."

"More than I'd like to admit." Daniel had once been somewhat of a pacifist, always one to try and avoid conflict. His trips through the stargate had quickly changed that attitude, much more readily than he thought it would. He tried not to think too hard about the lives he had taken over the years, even if they were all taken in defence of others, or of himself. The galaxy was a dangerous place, he knew this better than most, and it often paid to be heavily armed when journeying to some faraway world.

"So, this mission should be a piece of cake." Bowers met his gaze evenly, her eyes lighting up, as if she knew then and there that she had him where she wanted him. And she did indeed 'have him', in the sense that he was more or less sold on the prospect of getting back in the thick of it with the Stargate Program.

"If you don't mind me asking, but is there anyone else I might know joining the operation?" Daniel felt he did not have to outright state his willingness to get on-board, and this question seemed answer enough for Bowers. She nodded her head, and it was as if she had been expecting such an inquiry.

"Oh, maybe one or two," she replied. "It's all a bit up-in-the-air at the moment. I'm still setting it all up, you see. And I take it I can count on your willing involvement?"

Daniel thought about his job here, how he had become a glorified college professor. Maybe, at some point in his younger years, he might have worked towards such an end. Now, though, it seemed almost _mundane_. Too ordinary, even. Put in perspective, all those things he had experienced since getting involved with the stargate program had made Earth-bound life seem a little rudimentary in comparison.

"You can," he stated.


	5. Semi-Retirement

**Semi-Retirement  
**March 19th, 2022

There was something inherently thrilling about speeding down a highway, the open-top of the car allowing the wind to ruffle one's hair and buffet against their clothes. The heat of the New Mexico sun was, as expected, not one to discriminate. Without a roof on the car, the driver was likely to catch a good sunburn, especially at this midday hour. The driver in question was a tall, well-built man with rugged black hair and well-chiselled, handsome features that, despite the man's age, still retained a youthful, vibrant nature about them. Of course, there were some lines evident, and a thickening stubble that suggested a good while had gone since his last shave. Dressed in a casual grey jacket and brown cargo pants, the driver hit the accelerator hard as he surveyed the open road ahead. There was nary a soul in sight on this motorway, with rolling desert plains going on for miles to either side. The driver had long since abandoned his GPS, he much preferred to go headlong into the unknown, as the mystery was part of the appeal.

The car was a 1970 Ford Mustang Convertible, painted a deep red in colour. Being an older car, it had seen its fair share of replacement parts, but this one still carried much the same look it had had when it had rolled off the assembly line a good fifty years ago, specifically during the driver's year of birth. The car was the same age he was, which the driver thought made him and the car an appropriate pairing. The engine was new, along with some of the other components connected to it, giving the car an ample amount of power that put it in line with some newer, flashier models of the same brand and make. Unlike the car, the driver could not replace his engine with something newer, so-to-speak.

Colonel John Sheppard considered himself retired now, or at least partially so. Every so often he would take a job training recruits, but when it came to anything stargate related he had been out of it for years. It was a point he tried not to ponder too deeply, if only because of how frustrated he would become by it. Ever since things had calmed down in the Pegasus galaxy, things had seemed to fall apart. Friends he had known for years had moved on, some well out of his reach; people he thought he could rely on had let him down; and finally, no one on this particular planet had seen it necessary to send any kind of force back to the Pegasus Galaxy. They had washed their hands of that escapade, despite all the mess that had been caused in that corner of the interstellar neighbourhood.

So, Colonel Sheppard drove. He drove hard, accelerator down, engine roaring as he sought to put as much distance between himself and his troubles as he possibly could. The problem with that, and it was one he was well aware of, was how one's troubles tended to follow them. His most recent one, he soon realised, as he tore down the empty highway, was the fact that a police cruiser had appeared on his tail. Lights flashing and siren wailing, the car lagged behind a good distance. Sheppard wondered where it had appeared from, along with just what kind of rotten luck he had to have been sighted by what was likely the only cop car for many miles.

The sirens quickly drowned out the sounds of Johnny Cash's 'God's Gonna Cut you Down', which had been playing from the dashboard speakers. Sheppard lowered the volume anyway, to better prepare for the inevitable exchange he was about to share with the incoming officer-of-the-law.

Slowing down, Sheppard pulled off of the highway, bringing his Mustang to a gentle halt on the gravel strip running by the asphalt. The police cruiser followed suit, its driver switching off the siren as it came to a stop a few metres behind him.

Sheppard sighed out loud. Sweat beading down his forehead, he reached into the glove compartment and retrieved a bottle of water. Warm as it was, he still gulped down a sizeable portion. As he did so, the police officer from the car behind him sauntered alongside him. Slightly chubby and looking to be in his forties, the officer looked down at Sheppard through a pair of tinted aviators, carrying with him that haughty aura that so many cops seemed to have. Maybe it was simply a result of having the authority that they did, or perhaps this officer had had a very boring day so his first offender was one he intended to savour. Whatever the cause, Sheppard nonetheless offered the man a smile.

"Good afternoon," the officer said. He had his little notepad out, pen as well. The ticket had practically written itself.

"Hello, officer." Sheppard met the man's gaze through a pair of tinted sunglasses of his own. "It's a nice day, don't you think?"

"Nice day to be going well over the limit, from what I've seen." The officer did not sound impressed. "You are aware that the limit here is seventy-five miles per hour. I clocked you going a good eighty-seven, a little further back that way."

"I'm in a hurry." Sheppard felt, inwardly, that this officer could potentially be off catching real criminals instead of wasting time with one driver on an empty highway. Before he could add anything further, he became aware of a distant and rapid chopping noise, one he recognized right away as sound of an incoming helicopter. He supposed that it was not unusual, even if this remote region was far from any known helicopter flight paths. Sightseers, maybe? Military, even? Whoever they were, they were drawing near, and the noise gradually increased in volume accordingly. The officer did his best to ignore it, even as the helicopter in question drew close.

"In a hurry? Out here?" The officer sounded amused. "Nothing much out here to 'hurry' on to, mister. Even if there were, the law is the law. And going as fast as you were is a definite law-breaker." He paused, eyes drifting to the music player. "Johnny Cash, huh? You've got fine taste. Most people I pull over are blaring some hip-hop mumbo-jumbo ghetto-crap. Kids, mostly. The kind you'd never want to see behind the wheel of a car. You, on the other hand, look like a decent kind of fellah." He put out a hand. "I'll need to see your license, mister."

Sheppard was in no mood to argue. Sure, he knew full well he had broken the law. He reached into a pocket in his jacket and pulled out his license. By now, the helicopter was visible, and it was headed their way. Bearing the distinct markings of the United States Air Force, it seemed to hover some distance above for a bit, the noise of its engine drowning out just about every other sound in the vicinity. Even the police officer turned his head to it, distracted for a moment, and a little confused when he saw it begin to descend. Sheppard was surprised himself, uncertain of what to make of this unexpected visit. They were out here to see him, surely. Why else would they be landing by the side of the road, perhaps less than twenty metres from his car?

The spinning rotors kicked up dirt and dust from all around. The officer put a hand to his hat in order to keep it in place, before he turned fully to face the unexpected arrival. His request for Sheppard's license forgotten, he instead set his eyes firmly on the person who emerged from the nimble, unarmed scout helicopter. Sheppard also looked their way, eyes falling upon a tall, young woman outfitted in an Air Force uniform. The helicopter's engines were switched off then, the noise dying down immediately, the spinning rotors gradually slowing. The localised dust storm they had created ceased, and it once again became easy to hear one's self think with the noise gone.

"Good afternoon, officer." The woman strode towards them with intent in her step. She was here with a very particular purpose in mind, and a local law enforcement officer was the least of her concern. "Whatever business you have here, it's no longer necessary."

"Wait a damn minute." The officer sounded irritated. "I don't know who you are, but you can't just show up here and…"

"I'm Captain Joanne Bowers. I'm with the United States Air Force." She stopped a few metres from Sheppard's car, and she pointed one thumb back at the now parked helicopter. "I thought that was obvious, from the writing on the side? It's not just there for decoration."

"Captain? What the hell are you doing out here?" Whereas most people might have been put in their place when faced with an officer of the Air Force, this particular law enforcement officer only became more annoyed. "I was about to give this man a ticket…"

"That will no longer be necessary, officer…" She frowned, eyeing the tag on his uniform. "Officer Daugherty. You can head back to your usual patrol. This man is an employee of the United States Air Force, and I need to speak with him. In private." She added this last part with a good degree of emphasis. Officer Daugherty shifted where he stood, and he looked to be about to say something further, before he seemingly reconsidered and instead sauntered back to his car, shaking his head and muttering to himself as he went.

With him gone, Bowers approached Sheppard's Mustang. The Colonel looked up at her through his sunglasses, unable to stop himself from admiring her overall appearance. She was athletically framed, perhaps no older than thirty. She was most certainly attractive, and her demeanour was one of straight-backed confidence, the kind that could only be honed-in by years of training.

"You here to give me a ticket as well?" Sheppard asked her.

"No, but I can always bring Daugherty back to give you his." So, the Captain had a sense of humour. Sheppard relaxed a little, even if his uncertainty about the surprise visit was unchanged. Not only that, but now he was sitting motionless in the sun, which only made the sensation of the desert heat all the more pronounced.

"You were hard to find, Colonel."

"That's because I didn't want to be found, Captain." Sheppard lowered his sunglasses, allowing himself to view her without that slightly tinted veil over everything. She had a solid tan on her, the result of spending so much time outdoors. A field officer, Sheppard surmised. Maybe even an actual pilot.

"It's been a while since you Air Force types brought me back in for anything," Sheppard said. "I'm practically retired now."

"You're still employed by the Air Force, Colonel. Unless I missed a memo. Last I checked, you were training recruits as recently as six months ago."

"That was six months ago," Sheppard said. "I've been on vacation since then."

"That's a pretty long vacation." Bowers narrowed her eyes, frowning slightly. "I'm well aware of your disagreements with the people in charge. I read your file, even the parts that would normally be classified. The perks of being in with the Stargate Program."

Sheppard perked up a little when he heard her say this. It at least indicated that she was not here to drag him off to train some new recruits, or file paperwork in an office somewhere for that matter. There was potential for something a bit more exciting than either possibility, maybe even the very thing he had been petitioning for the past several years.

"Then you'd know what I really want," Sheppard said. "There's a galaxy full of people out there that's been left in a bad way. And we're responsible for that." He eyed Bowers carefully, trying to work out her intentions here, gauge if she even had close to the same level of concern for the matter as he did. "But no one's interested in getting back to Pegasus. Even with the Wraith on the rampage."

"You have to see it from the perspective of the people in charge," Bowers countered, even though she did not sound entirely convinced of this herself. "Pegasus is far away from here, Colonel. Out of sight, out of mind. Why waste resources over there, when there are more pressing concerns closer to home?"

"That's exactly what I was told." Sheppard did not bother to keep the disdain of this perspective from his voice. "You wouldn't happen to agree with them, Captain?" Sitting out here, in the heat of the desert, was beginning to get truly uncomfortable. Bowers did not appear too concerned, even with the sweat dripping down her brow.

"Not exactly," Bowers said. "But I'm in no position to do anything about it. However, I do have an opportunity available for you, if you're interested. If successful, there would certainly be room for expansion. That, in turn, could lead to a return expedition to the Pegasus galaxy. No guarantees, of course, but I suspect it's better than nothing."

"What do you have in mind?" Despite his feelings on the matter, his interest was most certainly piqued. Pegasus or not, if this Captain had gone to this trouble to find him, then he supposed he best listen closely.

"A mission that'll put the stargate program back into relevancy once again," Bowers said. "One that could very well net us some very useful technology. It'll be dangerous, of course. We could even get shot at, and some people don't do so well in a situation of that kind. Which is why I need the best, and your name popped up in our personnel database as the best, or at least one of the best."

"You want me on your mission?" Sheppard did consider it, whatever 'it' might have been. Bowers struck him as one of those young officer types looking to prove themselves, and what better way to do so than by leading an extravagant mission? He had known her type before; granted, the others he had known had been male, so he supposed there was some novelty in the fact that this time around, it was a woman. Part of him felt that tagging along with her might prove detrimental to his health, in the 'dying suddenly' sense. Yet another part of him told him to take her word on it and go for it, no matter how dangerous it might be. His desire to get out of the heat also drove him to make his decision fast.

"What's the operation, Captain? Reconnaissance? Infiltration? Full-frontal assault?"

"Maybe a combination of the three. I'm still ironing out the details, gathering intel, assigning personnel, that kind of thing. But I've got the backing of General Janssen, as well as the IOA's liaison to the SGC."

"Janssen?"

"Current commander of Stargate Command. Landry's successor."

"Right." Sheppard had never met the man, so he had no opinion either way. "You came all this way to offer me a job?"

"Why, Colonel? Surprised?"

"This isn't really normal procedure. Not that I'm complaining. I'd say it makes for a nice little change."

"I occasionally buck the 'normal procedure', if I have to." Bowers clasped her hands behind her back, standing straight and tall. The classic military posture had been hammered into her, all right. "I can tell you all you need to know, but only if you agree to join the operation. I've just about told you all I can, otherwise."

Sheppard looked to her, and then to the road ahead. He had seen much of the country, north and south and many places in-between. Deserts, forests, lakes, snow; he had seen it all, yet he wanted more. And he knew, the only way he would ever get the 'more' he was after, was if it was not on this planet. Ever since he had returned from the Pegasus galaxy, just over a decade ago now, he had felt as if something was missing. Maybe it was the people they had left behind, transplanted human civilisations being preyed upon by foes that had proven their ruthlessness and lethality more than once; or maybe it was the more mundane life he had found for himself here, training others and filing reports. He had needed to get away from it all, and so driving aimlessly across the country had seemed like a good option. Now, here he had an offer that could make for the best decision of his life since he had joined the Atlantis expedition; or it could lead him into a right mess of affairs, for this Captain Joanne Bowers did not strike him as conventional officer material. This was not a bad thing, per se, but it did bring with it a greater unpredictability that could send things either way.

He was a risk-taker, always had been. And he knew that he would be a fool to decline the offer, even if it meant remaining safely on Earth and continuing on with his wandering, or even his more ordinary Air Force job.

"So, Captain. You picking me up here or do I have to drive to Cheyenne Mountain myself?" Sheppard asked her. Bowers smiled, although the momentary look of confusion she gave suggested that she had not actually thought the circumstances of this meeting entirely through.


	6. Alien Hospitality

**Alien Hospitality  
**March 20th, 2022

It was probably no surprise that, upon approaching the door into what was now known as the 'Lizard's Quarters', that the sound of music could be heard coming from within. Somewhat muffled, it was still audible enough for the song to be recognizable. Specifically, 'God Only Knows' by the Beach Boys. Had anyone told Darren McClintock that he would be meeting an alien with a liking for old 60s songs, he would have had a chuckle at the very least. Aliens existed, he had known this for years; but to interview one, and to walk in on it listening to human-made music? It was ridiculous, really. Yet, here he was, and sometimes McClintock wondered if the universe enjoyed playing jokes on him.

He was deep within the Cheyenne Mountain Complex, specifically the areas relegated to Stargate Command. All grey corridors and tunnels, it was a complex that put functionality well above aesthetics in a typically military fashion. McClintock was a little out of place here, then, in his black suit and tie; a man in his early forties, he was the IOA liaison to Stargate Command, which tended to get him some hostile glances from the mostly military personnel milling about the complex. Still, at the end of the day he was a necessity here, as part of the new protocols in place. He knew full well General Janssen did not want him around, but he also knew these military types well enough to know that had it not been him assigned here, then whatever colleague of his who got the job would have been met with the same level of contempt. The military perceived him as an obstruction. McClintock was here to make sure they followed the rules and adhered to the protocols in place. It was not his fault that some of these military types had cowboy attitudes and preferred to let their guns do the talking.

The living quarters before him were located a short way from the brig. Until recently, the guest within these quarters had resided in a cell. Some arrangement with Janssen had seen their 'guest' relocated to a room specifically made up for him. Bigger than a cell and certainly more comfortable, their alien 'guest' was still under constant guard and could not roam the halls freely, unless under escort. McClintock had not met their prisoner face-to-face before, although he had familiarised himself with their file before today. This included previous rounds of questioning, most of which had supplied the same information that had been provided the first time around. The story remained consistent, even if McClintock himself felt that there was more to it.

Running a hand through his short black hair, he brought himself to a stop before the door and the two guards assigned to it. Both eyed him warily, with McClintock flashing his ID badge to the two of them.

"I need to speak to the prisoner," he said. "Over in the interrogation room down the hall. I called ahead?" He let the question hang in the air for a bit, and he saw the two uniformed guards exchange glances. One of them turned to the door, drawing his pass-card from a pocket before sliding it through the electronic lock above the door handle. A green light blinked, followed by an audible 'click' as the lock disengaged. Pushing open the door, the music became clearer now, as did the generally cluttered interior of the room. McClintock did not see the prisoner from this angle, save for his shadow cast against the far wall, which placed him on the sofa in the centre. Books and computer parts were scattered about the room, which was complete with a bed, a small adjoining bathroom, wardrobe and sink.

"We'll bring him out," the other guard said. "Go wait at the interview room."

McClintock nodded his head in acknowledgement. File clasped under one arm, briefcase gripped in his other hand, he made his way down the hallway and towards the room in question. The music ceased then, and he heard some words exchanged as the guard who had gone inside got the prisoner's attention. McClintock did not make out what was said, as he traversed the mostly empty hallway. The interview room was a small, mostly bare affair with a single metal table in the centre, a chair at either end of it and a surveillance camera up in one corner. A one-way mirror was at the far wall, providing a means for anyone in the room on the other side to observe the proceedings.

McClintock sat down at the table and waited. He felt a little anxious, if only because it was his first time seeing an alien. When he had been given this assignment, he had been briefed thoroughly; that included everything to do with what was known of extra-terrestrials. Even so, nothing could really prepare someone for face-to-face contact with one.

Their prisoner had been checked thoroughly for any potential diseases, having spent weeks in quarantine and subjected to one medical test after another. There was really nothing to worry about, and so far the prisoner had not been violent towards any of the personnel here. From all accounts, he behaved himself. In fact, it was thought that he liked it here, as odd as that sounded.

McClintock set the file for the prisoner upon the table, slim as it was. He put his briefcase by his chair and adjusted his tie. At that point, the two guards entered, bringing in with them the prisoner himself. McClintock had seen photos of him before, yet again seeing it in person was something else entirely. He tried not to stare, as the alien was brought in.

Tall and broad-shouldered, the prisoner carried distinctly deep blue-black, scaly skin. Amber-coloured, reptilian eyes darted about the room, taking it all in carefully. Well-muscled forearms were exposed by the plain, short-sleeved grey top he wore. There was no hair on his head, instead there were a few slight ridges and a number of stubby, pointed bone-like protrusions that also continued down the back of his neck. His nose was barely pronounced, with small, almost slitted nostrils that flared somewhat as he walked in. As for his mouth, it was a little wider than that on a human being, and within were two rows of pointed teeth. The rest of his outfit was fairly mundane, with grey cargo pants and thick military-grade boots over his feet. All human in origin, presumably in XXL size or higher to accommodate for his muscular bulk.

Reptilian at a glance, McClintock remembered reading something about that in the file. Specifically, how this creature was warm-blooded and, according to his testimony, his species gave birth to live young. Both very non-reptilian traits. McClintock supposed that the usual rules did not apply to things from other planets.

The alien's hands were cuffed in front of him. Much like a human, his hands each carried four fingers and a thumb. Unlike a human, each ended with a short, black claw. One of the guards walked him over to the vacant seat opposite McClintock, although the alien got the message and sat down in it on his own accord. Resting his bound hands upon the table, his eyes fell upon the human ahead of him.

"More questioning?" His voice was masculine, carrying with it a raspy quality. "I thought we were done with this nonsense." He sounded disappointed, bored even. Hardly the reaction McClintock expected from an alien.

"We haven't met," he said, doing his best to sound friendly and relaxed. One guard had come to stand by the now closed door on the inside, his compatriot having taken a place by the door on the other side. Neither would stray far from the SGC's unusual guest.

"My name is Darren McClintock," he continued. He thought of shaking hands, but then reconsidered. The alien's hands were cuffed, certainly, although McClintock was more put off by the thought of actually touching the alien. "I work for the International Oversight Advisory. We're a civilian agency assigned to oversee operations such as Stargate Command. I'm the assigned liaison for the Advisory here, and as such I've been given the task of interviewing you strictly for IOA records. I understand that you've already been through similar with the military, but I may not ask the same types of questions they did."

The alien sat quietly, watching him with his amber eyes intently. Perhaps _too_ intently, McClintock thought. He suddenly felt a little more uncomfortable. A long pause followed, and then alien rapped the claws of one hand lightly upon the metal tabletop.

"What is your job here, exactly?" The alien asked, which caught McClintock a little off-guard.

"I make sure that proper rules and protocols are adhered to by the military staff of this facility," McClintock replied. "That is my role in its simplest terms, of course. I make regular reports to my superiors, which in turn helps to inform any decisions made concerning the stargate program."

"You're not a soldier?"

"No, I'm not."

"Then what right do you have to be here?" Now this remark threw McClintock completely, as did the alien's annoyed-sounding tone. "Everyone here is a soldier to some extent, this much I've learned. Yet here you are, and you're telling me that part of your job involves telling these soldiers what to do despite the fact that you're not one yourself. If you do not mind me asking, _Darren_, but just how does that work?" If McClintock did not know any better, it seemed to him that this alien had made his decision about him already. It was not anything he was not used to, even if it did strike him a little odd that he was getting it from an alien, of all things.

"It's the way this nation has operated for a long time," McClintock replied. "From its inception. The military has always answered to a civilian government. We're a democracy, where people are free to speak their minds and express themselves however they please."

"I've seen your media," the alien replied. His eyes narrowed. "I would say that you have a very romanticised view of your country."

McClintock could feel control of the conversation slipping away from him, all too quickly. He had to attempt to rein it in, before it went off the rails completely. He was supposed to be asking the questions here, not the prisoner. And that was what this alien was, really; a prisoner, even if he had a comfortable set of quarters and appeared content with the arrangement.

"How do things work, on your world?" McClintock opened the file in front of him, where transcripts of past interviews with the prisoner were located. "Just to confirm, your name is Valkas Kavellan? Is that it?"

"Yes, that is it." The alien leaned back in his seat, his muscular frame making the cheap fold-up chair creak loudly. "I suppose this is being recorded, like all the rest?"

McClintock looked back up at him and nodded.

"You suppose correctly," he said. He could feel things falling back into place now. He had to guide this interview, not let the interviewee do so. "As I was saying, how do things work, where you're from? Is your government a democracy, or something else? Do you have a government at all?"

"We are a unified people," Valkas stated. "United under one flag, one ruler. It has been that way for nearly one thousand of your Earth years." He sounded a little bored with the topic, and it struck McClintock that discussing history was not something Valkas was particularly interested in. "Democracy sounds good in theory, but it always ends up corrupt and mired in bureaucracy. I would say I'm looking at a prime example of that mire right now." His eyes met starkly with McClintock's, his immediate dislike of the man apparent.

"And the name of your home-world," McClintock continued, doing his best to ignore the remark. "Calshara? Is that it?"

"Again, that is 'it'." Valkas frowned. "I've been through this with the other people before you. How many more times must I be questioned?"

"As many as it takes to confirm the things you've told us." McClintock spoke a little more harshly then, in order to make it clear who was in control here. Valkas did not react, he simply retained his level gaze, regarding McClintock with some slight disdain. "You've already got the General in charge here very interested in this fortress you've told us about. I need to make sure you're not just stringing us along, if you catch my drift."

"I'm no liar," Valkas replied.

"Regardless, I'm here with a job to do and I'm going to do it, no matter how bored you are or how much you might not like me." He felt a little odd, talking so harshly to an alien, especially one that was nearly twice his size. Valkas might very well have been able to easily break his neck with his bare hands, if he felt so inclined. That, and if he was not handcuffed. McClintock felt glad that the guards had taken that precaution with the prisoner.

"Calshara, does that name have any meaning to it?" McClintock once again attempted to put the interview back on track. Valkas thought about the question for a moment, appearing a little bemused.

"It stems from an old dialect," he said, after a pause. "I don't know what it means, exactly. Something like 'home of the people', but I'm not certain."

"Is your home-world on the stargate network?" McClintock asked.

"Yes."

"Do you know the coordinates?"

There was a longer pause then. Valkas contemplated the question for far longer than McClintock expected him to.

"They won't do you much good," he explained. "My people have security measures in place, not dissimilar to that 'iris' you have on your stargate. Why? You seeking to make contact?"

McClintock gave a light shrug.

"Maybe, maybe not. It's not up to me. I'm just curious as to why you've allowed yourself to be incarcerated here. Don't you want to leave?" It was unusual, to have a prisoner so content at being imprisoned. McClintock had worked in law prior to attaining a job in the IOA, and he had seen firsthand how some people coped with being in prison. Most would prefer to be anywhere but locked up.

"Do you have family, back home?" Again, Valkas took his time to reply. His eyes were fixed straight ahead, yet they were seemingly looking past McClintock, right through him even. His thoughts were elsewhere, that much was clear.

"I can't return home," Valkas said simply. McClintock waited for him to elaborate on this, but further details did not come. Instead, the alien fell silent again. "It's complicated." This last bit he added almost as an afterthought, when he noticed the way in which McClintock was watching him. "Besides, what does it matter? I've told you everything I can, and I haven't been lying about it. I have no reason to. There's a treasure trove of advanced technology out there."

"So you've said."

"Would you believe me if I said I like it here?" Valkas' voice seemed to pep up a bit, and the dour look on his face faded somewhat. "Your world is interesting, despite its many issues. I would one day like to journey across it, see the sights if you would allow me."

"Not my decision," McClintock said. "I don't know if that will ever happen, to be quite honest. The outside world doesn't know you exist. In fact, many people believe us to be the only intelligent species in the cosmos. If they saw you out in the streets, there'd probably be a panic. Not to mention all manner of awkward questions being asked of us by other countries."

"Maybe one day that will change. Your people cannot continue to be oblivious to what is really out there. My people, we've faced a number of threats since our civilisation became advanced enough to leave the confines of our planet. Not one of them was fought without the public being aware of it." He leaned forwards in his chair then, almost conspiratorially, as if about to part some sensitive information to McClintock. "One day, the aliens your people are oblivious to are going to come here, and they're not going to bother being subtle about it."

"We've had a few run-ins like that, and we've dealt with them."

"You got lucky." Valkas sounded fairly sure of himself. "And luck runs out, like it did with me. When your people found me, my luck was just about gone."

"Yes, I read as much in the reports." McClintock flicked through the file, to one of the earlier documents on the matter. "You were wounded, bearing the trademark burns left by some kind of an energy weapon. A staff weapon, more specifically, which suggested a run-in with Goa'uld forces. Is that correct?"

"It's close enough."

"You acquired those injuries during your escape from captivity?" McClintock was trying to piece together the details that Valkas had given in previous interviews, in order to best determine if there were any noticeable gaps. The military people here might have been satisfied with his story, but as for McClintock, he felt that there could easily be more to it. "How long were you imprisoned by the Goa'uld?"

"Long enough." Another vague response. McClintock did not press the subject further. He was no bad-cop interrogator, and he certainly was not about to get someone in to rough up the prisoner. General Janssen had made it clear that he wanted the prisoner unharmed.

"I take it staying with us is far more preferable to being imprisoned by the Goa'uld?" As expected, Valkas nodded his head.

"That should be obvious." His eyes glanced up to the clock on the wall behind where McClintock was seated. "Could we hurry this up? I want to get back to _Magnum P.I._"

"You've certainly embraced our culture," McClintock commented.

"I'm an open-minded person." How true that was, McClintock could not be certain. Valkas was certainly an unusual case, and it was one he intended to get to the bottom of, even if it took a long time to do so. Sooner or later, he would find out whatever game this alien was playing, if any. Some might have considered McClintock paranoid; he was simply doing his job, and that meant approaching the assignment with every angle covered.

"Besides, I have to amuse myself somehow. You people are keeping me contained, after all."

"Yes, from what I understand, video games and television take up much of your time. Don't they have those things on your planet?"

"In a way." Valkas did not elaborate further. "Now, are we done?"

McClintock shook his head. They were really only just getting started. He had many questions to ask, some of which he intended to use as a means of properly determining this alien's true intentions. However, before he could say anything further, the door of the interview room flung open and a familiar, slim figure in uniform appeared in the doorway. McClintock frowned when he looked up to the new arrival, seeing Captain Bowers in the door with her face scrunched up in annoyance. Valkas turned to her as well, and the way in which his scaly features loosened somewhat suggested that he was pleased to see her.

"McClintock, what are you doing?" Bowers strode in with obvious purpose behind each step. McClintock knew her well enough by this point to know that she was not the kind of woman one should really mess with, although for him this was difficult. It seemed his sheer existence annoyed her in one way or another.

"I'm interviewing the detainee as requested by my superiors," McClintock said. Bowers stopped by the table, eyes fixed firmly upon him. "Barging in here puts you in direct obstruction of an IOA matter…"

"You IOA types really need to learn when and where you're not welcome," Bowers interrupted.

McClintock had been through her files, as he had for most of the prominent staff here. She had been a test pilot, and a month or so ago she had been transferred into the stargate program. Some kind of accident had seen her lose her job as a test pilot, one that had so far been carefully buried under layers of red tape that not even McClintock could dig through. Nonetheless, she was here now, presumably because her father was a General with connections to some powerful people. A classic case of nepotism, which made her place here all the more dubious, at least in McClintock's eyes. As for General Janssen, he was pleased to have a capable officer at his disposal, and there was no denying from looking at her records that Joanne Bowers was indeed capable. Save for the recent accident, her history in the Air Force was otherwise clean of any real incidents. Sure, her personnel file noted a 'volatile streak', but it seemed some higher-ups wanted that sort of thing in their officers.

"I have a job to do here, just as you do," McClintock stated. He rose from his seat, maintaining his composure despite the woman's obvious attempts to intimidate him. It was an ability he had developed from working in criminal law, where he had dealt with all manner of rough types who did all they could to intimidate others. "The IOA want a detailed report concerning Valkas here, and I intend on giving it to them. We cannot simply trust his word…"

"It's not him I don't trust," Bowers interjected. Her voice was level, yet her gaze was piercing. McClintock found himself falling quiet, if only to avoid any further escalation of the troubles between the two of them. Whereas McClintock always followed the rules and made it a point to do so, he knew from Bowers' records that she sometimes bucked those very rules when it suited her. Not significantly enough to get her in serious trouble, but there had been mention of it in numerous places within her file.

"We need to learn to work together, Captain," McClintock said, after a pause. "It would be in our best interests to do so."

"Maybe, but I don't need you messing with my operation," Bowers countered. "That means, until it's done, you don't speak to Valkas. I don't care what orders your boss has given you. Don't mess with my op." She glared at him further, and he got the impression that she wanted him out of the room.

McClintock took up the file and his briefcase, the message received loud and clear. The guard at the door watched on impassively, although there was no doubt in his mind that if push came to shove, the guard would side with Bowers without hesitation. McClintock was an unwanted outsider, which was a problem in itself, made all the more so by the fact that he held a degree of authority here.

From the table, Valkas watched on with amusement evident on his face. The way he beared his pointed teeth in a smile at least suggested that he was enjoying the show. All the more reason not to trust him, McClintock mused, as he offered Bowers one last glance before starting for the door.

"I'll be bringing this intrusion to General Janssen's attention," McClintock said. Bowers let out a loyd and derisive-sounding snort.

"Yeah, go on. Tell the principal about the mean girl who bullied you in the playground."

McClintock walked by her and made his way for the door. Bowers watched him leave, and he could feel her eyes on him the whole way. He could perhaps understand her attitude, given the upcoming mission and how it could potentially benefit the program. However, it was more likely Bowers was concerned with how much it could benefit her own career, especially if all Valkas' talk about the 'treasure trove' of technology was true.

* * *

As soon as McClintock had left the room, Joanne turned to Valkas. She offered him a friendly smile, eyes meeting with those of the alien. She had spoken to him more than once before, usually about the information he had supplied them, particularly that which pertained to the fortress he had been imprisoned in for several weeks. As such, she was not expecting the latest bit of news she had for him to be taken well.

"He didn't give you too much trouble, did he?" Joanne asked him.

"McClintock?" Valkas shook his head. "No, not at all. I would say you intimidated him quite well, even if he doesn't show it."

"I take it you don't have people like him where you're from?"

"Most people 'like him' have no place where I'm from." He clasped his hands upon the table, eyeing Joanne curiously. "Is there something you wished to discuss, Captain Bowers?" He spoke the language perfectly, in a manner more refined than a number of people Joanne knew. Perhaps it was aided by some piece of alien tech she was unaware of, an implant even, or some kind of side-effect of stargate travel. Whatever it was, hearing an alien speak English so well was something she was unlikely to get used to anytime soon.

"Just something we've decided, when it comes to the mission." Joanne did not know what to expect from Valkas, as so far he had been reserved and level-headed. Not once had he raised a hand against anyone here, nor even toyed with the idea of escape. If anything, he was strangely content. With that in mind, Joanne could not trust him, not completely; she could understand why McClintock did not, although this did not endear her to the IOA agent to any extent. However, Valkas had been detained here for over a month, and in that time he had only been cooperative. Sure, there were some questions he did not answer with any detail, but everyone had their secrets.

"What would that be?" Valkas quirked one brow-ridge. His eyes, a deep amber, watched her with interest.

"Well, as a condition of your continued security here, we'll be bringing you along. As a guide, more or less."

There was a long pause. Joanne tried to judge his reaction, not that there was much of one made apparent. His eyes did widen a little, and his hands, rested upon the desk, clenched into fists. It was a brief movement, a small sign of what he really felt. Going back to where he had been imprisoned for some time was hardly an appealing prospect, not even to this burly alien soldier.

"Is that all?" Valkas relaxed, regaining his composure. However, Joanne still sensed some reluctance from him. If anything, it seemed that he was doing his best to keep up a strong exterior. "It's about time for my lunch, I believe."

"That's all, Valkas." Joanne motioned to the guard by the door. He went over to the alien and coaxed him up and out of his chair by the arm. Valkas said nothing more as he was escorted out of the room, all while Joanne watched him, intrigued once more by the sheer fact that she was in the presence of a genuine alien. To say he was not what she had expected was an understatement.

For now, she had some tasks of her own to attend to. The job here, in Stargate Command, had so far proven to be somewhat more interesting than her previous one. And it was bound to become even more so, once the planned operation was carried out.


	7. Old Ground, New Faces

**Old Ground, New Faces  
**March 20th, 2022

When Daniel Jackson was brought into Stargate Command, he was met with the strange but welcome sensation of being right at home. Indeed, he had not been here for some time, nearly a year even, and the last visit had been little more than a meeting he had been requested to attend. Artefacts had been found on some far away world, and the people here had wanted his opinion on them. It was about all they wanted from him these days, which he could understand. He was no soldier, never had been, and regardless of all the things he had experienced during his time in SG-1, he was first and foremost an archaeologist. When it came to unearthing history on alien planets, there were others he could go off and do that for him. He did not have to risk his life to do it anymore, and this had been an arrangement he had thought he could be content with.

He had been wrong, of course. He missed this place, he missed the stargate travel and he, much to his surprise, missed the danger. Sure, he had been shot at on numerous occasions, hurt plenty even, and not once had he enjoyed those experiences. Yet having been away from it for so long, he had begun to miss the thrill that such things had brought, the kind of reckless excitement that Daniel had thought only crazy people experienced. Maybe he was crazy, it would not surprise him; an old friend had once told him that he could not understand how, after all Daniel had been through, that he was able to sleep soundly. Yet he somehow did, and this might have been some suggestion that all was not right with his state of mind. A psychologist could have a field day with him. Of course, said psychologist would need to have some pretty-high security clearance if Daniel was going to tell them all about the things he had been through.

It was maybe intentional that they brought him to his old room. It had been long since cleared out of any of his personal effects, little more than a barebones set of living quarters with the essentials and little else. A bed, a toilet, a sink, a closet and a television; Daniel thanked the guard who had led him here, before depositing his one suitcase upon the neatly made bed. Inside were changes of clothes, a few books, nothing of any real significance. Standard items, and he had had some trouble determining exactly what and how much he should pack. No one had been able to tell him how long he would be away for, or how long the operation would take.

The guard had told him to report to the conference room in about half an hour, which gave Daniel some time to get reacquainted with the place, and to unpack and settle in. He had noticed, on the way in, that Stargate Command seemed strangely quiet. There were less personnel around than he was used to, and certainly less activity especially in regard to the embarkation room. During the half an hour he spent in his quarters, not one alert sounded related to stargate activity. Not necessarily unusual, even if he felt that things had been a little more active back when he had been with SG-1. He knew the program had fallen out of favour when it came to funding, with much of the money being relegated to other projects; still, it was hard to imagine this place being so _quiet_.

After setting his room up in a way he preferred, he made his way out into the grey tunnels of the complex, working a path up to the conference room. The whole room was lit with bright white fluorescents, with the barriers up over the window looking down into the gate-room. This allowed an impeded view of the stargate itself, which remained where it had always been these many years.

Upon entering the conference room, he was surprised to see a familiar figure seated at the table, one he had not expected to ever see again. There was also Captain Bowers, standing near the table, looking her usual stern self. For all her outright seriousness and all-business demeanour, Daniel knew that the woman had a snarky streak that would make the likes of Jack O'Neill proud.

"Doctor Jackson," Joanne announced, as he walked inside. "Glad you're here. We're still waiting on a few others, but we're a bit early anyway." She strode over to the head of the table, where a stack of files was sitting. "In the meantime, feel free to familiarise yourself with what we know of where we're going and why we're going there. It's all in the files."

"We're getting right into it, aren't we?" Daniel inquired. He made his way to the table, taking a seat across from a man he had not seen for many years. Specifically, John Sheppard, who was looking a little grey and a little rougher than Daniel had last seen him, but the man himself had changed very little. John offered Daniel a friendly half-smile, no doubt surprised to see him here. They were both in civilian clothes, having only just arrived. The Captain was keen to get them up to speed, even if that meant giving them very little time to settle in.

"No use wasting time," Joanne said, as if reading his mind. She slid one of the files across the table towards him, and she did the same for John. "I believe you know Colonel John Sheppard, Doctor Jackson?"

"We've met." Daniel met the Colonel's eyes again. Certainly not someone he had expected to be part of this, especially given John's reputation at generally annoying those higher-ups in his frequent push to get the Atlantis expedition up to full strength again. "It's been some time, though."

Daniel flipped open the file, skimming through the first few pages. According to what he saw, some kind of alien captive had been recovered during a routine patrol mission to a world that had, until that point, not yet been explored; said alien was now residing somewhere in the complex. This little fact got Daniel's attention right away, and he shifted his attention back to Joanne.

"There's an alien here?" He asked her.

"Yeah, there is. He's been very cooperative with us so far. Something about how he can never go home again, I don't know, he's been a bit vague about it."

"Sounds kind of familiar."

"So, Doctor Jackson, they dragged you into this as well?" John was the one to ask this. Daniel looked at him and, after some brief thought about it, gave a slight shrug.

"Yes, well, they told me I was one of the best people available for it." He was not completely convinced of this, if only because of how many other experts who were probably readily available. Still, he was flattered, in a way. And being back here again had made him realise just how much he had missed it. "I'm still a little confused as to what 'it' is, exactly. Some kind of Goa'uld stronghold, is that right?"

"Pretty much." Joanne turned towards the door into the General's office then, as the General himself emerged from within. General Janssen adjusted his collar as he walked in, before he took his place at the seat at the head of the table. Joanne sat down on John's right, and Janssen reached over a hand for Daniel to shake.

"Doctor Jackson, it's good to see you again." They shook hands, and Daniel was a little startled to see just how tired Janssen appeared. The job must have been taking a toll on him, as he looked a fair bit older than when Daniel had last met the man, a year or so ago. "I understand that Captain Bowers selected you for this mission. I have no reason to doubt her judgment, and your record makes it very clear that you're well-suited for what we've got planned."

"Yeah, I'm still a little confused by that," Daniel said. "I wasn't told much on the way here. Are we it?" He looked to John and Joanne, feeling that there was a good deal of people missing here.

"No, you're not." Another voice answered the question, this one coming from the entrance of the conference room. A man in a black business suit who looked to be in his forties entered, carrying with him a briefcase and the unmistakable look of a bureaucrat. Daniel immediately noticed Joanne's mood change, her expression turning sour, almost scowling as they watched the new arrival enter. This was a man Daniel had never seen before, yet from the way he carried himself it appeared that he held some sway here. Even General Janssen appeared irritated by his presence, although he did a much better job of hiding it when compared to Joanne's general look of disgust.

"My name is Darren McClintock." He stopped on Daniel's left, setting his briefcase upon the table. He offered a hand to Daniel, who shook it, and he did the same to John. Neither of them had any reason to dislike him, despite what Joanne must have been feeling. "I'm the IOA liaison to Stargate Command. I take you both are familiar with my organization?"

John emitted a quiet sigh and slowly nodded his head.

"Oh yeah, we're familiar." He did not sound entirely keen on the idea of the IOA being involved. Daniel had encountered people from the likes of the NID and IOA before, and most of them had ended up doing everything in their power to impede stargate operations. And just about every time, they had been proven wrong. Of course, he was not the kind of person to make hasty judgment about anyone, and that included McClintock.

"This is just a preliminary briefing, to get the pair of you up-to-date on the mission," Janssen said, as soon as McClintock had settled into his chair. "We're still ironing out the details, and the team will consist of far more than just the three of you."

"How many are we talking, General?" John asked.

"We've got a Sergeant on exchange from Russia," Janssen explained, a statement that sounded more than a little odd. At least, until Daniel realised just how much things had changed since SG-1 had been active. Why would they not have Russians working in the stargate program? Something like that would certainly improve relations between the two countries. "Also, SG-3, under command of Colonel Thomas Bastion, will be accompanying you on the mission. Bastion and Captain Bowers have been working together to come up with a plan to see the mission through, with a minimum of fuss."

"Several weeks ago, one of our patrols found a wounded alien on a planet designated P2X-229," Joanne explained. She opened her file to one of the earliest pages, and Daniel did the same. "His name was Valkas, and he had apparently escaped from a Goa'uld fortress. He had been held captive there for over a month, and during his escape he had made it to a stargate and dialled his way to what was apparently an outpost belonging to his people. That was where our team found him, inside a long-abandoned bunker where he had been treating his wounds and laying low."

Daniel saw a photo of the alien in question. Bipedal, reptilian in appearance, and from the photo they had him dressed in clothes not unlike those one would find on an inmate in a prison. He had even posed for a few mug-shots, complete with him holding up a plaque stating the date and his name. He looked a little beaten up in these images, likely ones that had been taken only days after he had been brought here.

"He surrendered willingly," Joanne continued. "We made an agreement with him, for the time being, that he would be free to remain here, living comfortably, and in exchange he would provide us with information that could net us some very sophisticated technology. The catch is, that tech is inside the fortress he was imprisoned in. And from what we've learned, it's an unusual sort of Goa'uld stronghold."

"Unusual?" Daniel perked up then.

"Look at the way his eyes light up," John remarked. "Like a kid waking up on Christmas Day."

"I thought you might be interested in this, Doctor Jackson," Joanne said. "It's supposedly Ra's secret stronghold. That is what our alien friend told us, and from what we've managed to dig up he could be right. We're talking a place that Ra himself used as a home-away-from-home, a fortress that very few other Goa'uld knew existed. Something far removed from his usual domain, a planet that is, according to what we've worked out, on the very far fringes of the galaxy."

"Ra?" Even after all these years, Daniel could still remember that particular Goa'uld vividly. How could he forget him, especially given Ra's nature as the 'Supreme' System Lord. Ridding the galaxy of him had certainly made it a better place, even if it had left a power vacuum, allowing the likes of Apophis and Heru'ur to emerge and become stronger.

"It's been secluded for all this time," Joanne said. "Forgotten about. According to our alien friend, the people there are convinced that Ra will return to them someday. They're loyal to him, even in his absence."

"Is this why you called me in?"

"Partly. Not to mention your overall experience with the Goa'uld."

"Is this where we're going?" John sounded very interested now. He had not been off-world for years, so Daniel supposed that anywhere would make for an exciting trip. "Are we going to take the place out? Maybe even try and convince the locals that their 'god' ain't coming back?"

Joanne shook her head.

"Not what I had in mind. It's what our alien friend has told us about the place, what it's got hidden away inside it. Ra used the fortress as a place to hoard the treasures he found about the galaxy. I'm not just talking gold and diamonds, I'm talking technology. Pieces of exotic alien tech unknown to us, things that Ra might have found and not really known what to do with, so he's stashed them in this fortress for safekeeping, and presumably, research. Most likely, he stashed them here to keep his rivals from getting hold of any of it."

Daniel could see now why they were so keen to send a team out there. If there was truly some world-changing piece of alien technology hidden away in this fortress, then ignoring it would be foolish. Especially when it could, potentially, fall into the hands of their enemies.

"You know, I can't say I'm surprised to hear that Ra was doing this. Hoarding technology for some unforeseen purpose. It sounds like something he would have done and would have had the patience to do. Most other Goa'uld would have tried to put it to use as soon as possible." Daniel found himself talking before he had really thought over what he wanted to say, but now that he had started he was not about to stop until he had made his point. All eyes in the room were on him now, and he cleared his throat before he continued. "What I mean is, Ra is the System Lord we know the least about. Information on him has always been sketchy. We don't know the extent of his domain, or his forces, nothing like that. He could have another fortress like this on the opposite side of the galaxy, for all we know. And looking back, I always thought that there was something a little different about him. He wasn't like the Goa'uld that followed."

"This is supposed to be his last stronghold," Joanne said. "Forgotten by just about everyone else. At least, until now. Somehow, our alien guest found out about it, and the sort of thing being kept there. He got captured trying to raid the hoard. He was part of some kind of reconnaissance team for his people, a top-secret mission that very few of his kind knew about. Obviously, the mission went wrong."

"Can we trust him?" John asked, his doubts apparent in his tone and the disbelieving look he wore. Daniel also had some doubts as well, although the prospect of visiting one of Ra's strongholds was an appealing one. He had always wanted to learn more about that particular System Lord, and this would be as good an opportunity as any.

"Well, we've already sent a UAV out there." Joanne picked up a small remote from the table in front of her. The LCD screen on the wall behind her flickered into life after a button press, and another one brought up a photo, specifically a birds-eye view of some kind of stronghold. It was located in a desert, comprised of a large central structure, and from the height the photo had been taken, it was apparent that the complex was vast. There was a whole town in there, surrounded by a large stone wall. "From what we've seen, he's right about it being a Goa'uld stronghold. So, if he's telling us the truth there, then it stands to reason that there might be more to it. Maybe we find the tech he's told us about, maybe we don't. Maybe it's gone, or was just a lie. Thing is, we're bringing him along to help us find it. So, if he's lying, then he'll be screwing himself over as much as he's screwing us."

"I don't think relying on the intel of an alien with a questionable background is a wise decision," McClintock stated. He immediately received an annoyed look from Joanne. "We hardly know anything about him, or about what's in that fortress. It could be some kind of elaborate trap. He could be using us to get to some kind of weapon. He did say he was part of a team."

"A team that got killed," Joanne added. "It was pure chance we even found him. This can't be some kind of 'elaborate' plan, simply because it was chance that brought us to him. How could he plan for that? He was half-dead when we got to him."

"We cannot take the word of an alien we know so little about," McClintock continued, pressing his point. Daniel felt as if he was caught in the middle of some long-standing feud between these two. At the same time, Janssen ran a hand through his hair, a weary look crossing his features.

"He said his people are a militaristic species. He thinks democracy is a joke. If anything, he's a supporter of fascism. How can we trust someone like that?"

"Just because his political views differ, doesn't mean he isn't telling the truth about this fortress." Joanne sounded tired, and it was likely that she had been through this before with McClintock. Despite that, they were at it again, and Daniel felt as if this minor disagreement was about to escalate into something more.

"He's an alien." It was John who piped up then, sounding as if he was trying to defuse the situation. "Of course his views differ. If the intel's good, I don't see the problem."

"This whole move reeks of desperation." McClintock sounded a little exasperated now, no doubt because no one else in the room was really listening to his opinion. "The stargate program has become increasingly irrelevant over the last few years because the government has deemed it both too expensive, and no longer necessary. We have the ships we need to fight off any alien threats. Yet here we are, preparing for some foolhardy venture to bring attention back to this program. The promise of alien technology will make those people up in Washington take notice again, is that it?" The IOA man shook his head. Daniel had to admit, he did have a point here: maybe it was a little bit reckless, all in the hopes of bringing back some of that funding. To prove that the program still had its uses, aside from scientific research.

"There has not been a major alien threat to Earth for over a decade," McClintock continued. "The Goa'uld are mostly history, the Replicators and the Ori have long since been neutralised, and finally the Wraith as so far removed from us that they're simply not our problem…"

"I disagree," John interrupted.

"I'm well aware of your opinion on that matter, Colonel Sheppard." McClintock gave a slightly dismissive wave of his hand, for to him, the Wraith were indeed nothing of their concern. "This program hangs by a thread. One day, there will be full disclosure, and things here will change considerably. This mission is just a last-ditch attempt to return this program to how it was when it began. But things have changed, and they will never change back. This mission could easily bring trouble to Earth. All-in-all, it sounds too good to be true."

"We're going ahead with it," Joanne said, frowning at McClintock. There was more than just disagreement in her eyes, Daniel saw. Rather, there was sheer dislike present, and the fire in that woman's eyes made even Daniel feel a little uncomfortable.

"Captain Bowers, you're still very new to this program. I understand you got your place here because your big-shot father pulled a few strings? A means to save your career in the Air Force, as your career as a pilot was over, wasn't it?"

Now Joanne's expression soured greatly, and Daniel could see the woman tense up visibly. John noticed it too, as he and Daniel exchanged uneasy glances. Joanne looked as if she was about to lunge forward and make a go for the IOA agent, which would likely have only made things worse. Even if the man was going out of his way to be as irritating as possible, outright assault was generally looked down upon, both in the Air Force and in civilian life.

"That's enough, Darren." Janssen's voice was stern and cut right through the growing tension between them like a knife. Almost right away, Joanne eased back in her seat. She heeded the General's words, as he might have been warning off McClintock, but he was warning her off just as much. McClintock rose out of his seat then, taking his briefcase in one hand. He looked to each of the others seated at the table in turn, receiving mixed looks from John and Daniel, before he managed one last, lingering gaze at a still very hostile Joanne. Despite the hostility, McClintock appeared unfazed. With one hand, he adjusted his tie and started for the exit.

"I know my opinion here isn't much valued," he said, stopping partway across the room to look back at the group. "But one day I'll be right, and you'll have no choice but to listen to me then."

With that said, McClintock went for the door, disappearing out into the hall and leaving the remaining three to mull over what had happened. At least, Daniel was about to ponder the overall uncertainty he had about the whole assignment, before Joanne spoke up, sounding cheerful all of a sudden.

"We're going into that fortress," she said. "And our alien guest is going to lead us straight to the tech he says is in there."

"Did he specify what any of it does?" John asked.

"Even he isn't sure of this," Joanne replied. "Those details were kept from him by his superior."

"And what about the rest of his people?" Daniel had been thinking about this, finding the whole thing to be a little convenient. Sure, the alien might not have been lying, certainly not if he was going to lead them into the fortress. However, it still left certain lingering questions that had begun to nag away at the back of his mind.

"The mission was secret," Joanne said. "With the loss of his team, they're unlikely to send anyone else. So, we shouldn't have to worry about his friends showing up."

John did not look convinced. Daniel had known getting involved in this might have lead to trouble, and part of him felt that this was exactly where it was heading. Over the years, he had come to trust his gut instinct, yet this time around it was giving him mixed signals. He was here now, anyway, he would be stupid to turn around and leave. The program needed his help, and if there was even an ounce of truth to this 'technological treasure trove', then he would see it through.


	8. Only the Finest Cuisine

**Only the Finest Cuisine**

The cafeteria was much the same as it had always been, with some changes; newer furniture, for one. A small lounge like area was in the corner, with a couple of sofas, a coffee table and a large-screen television set upon the wall. At the moment, a few base personnel were seated here, watching an ice hockey game. It was about half past one, well after the usual lunchtime peak, so there were otherwise very few other people seated about the cafeteria.

Daniel and John had elected to get something to eat after the meeting, left to mull over what had been revealed about the coming mission. One thing that was apparent to both of them was that this mission was Joanne's baby; she was the one in charge of it, in a sense, with Janssen a close supporter. And the likes of McClintock were very much against it.

Both men sauntered over to the counter, trays in hand, as they surveyed the foods on offer. Chicken wings, rice, even a few cheeseburgers; standard fare, but welcome nonetheless.

"What do you make of it?" Daniel asked John, as he put a scoopful of rice into a bowl on his tray.

"Make of what?" John took one of the burgers, along with two of the chicken wings. "The mission? Or the obvious problems going on with the upper management here?"

"Ah, both?" Daniel walked over to the fridge at the end of the counter, and from there he pulled a bottle of apple juice. As for John, he helped himself to a bottle of coke, and with this done the two made their way for the nearest vacant table and sat down across from each other.

"I think the General's desperate for a break," John said, as he twisted off the cap on the bottle, the release of the contained gases causing a quick _hiss_ sound. "And I think that the good Captain is desperate to prove herself, and to show she isn't going to screw up again."

"Again?"

"I looked her up." John took sip of cola between sentences. "She was a pilot. Flew some kind of prototype space fighter, made a go for some flight leader position on one of our star-ships. She pulled a reckless move and almost got herself, and another pilot, killed."

"And now she's here?"

"In Stargate Command. Seems odd, but I think it's because the General here wants a fresh face to take on this mission. Either that, or none of the veterans wanted anything to do with it. I don't know." John gave a light shrug of the shoulders. "Thing is, I don't think it matters a whole lot. If what they're saying is true, then we should go check out that fortress."

"Even if it all goes horribly wrong?"

"You should expect that by now, Daniel. Since when have things ever gone right, for either of us? With you and SG-1, it was just one crazy mess after another. With me, it was much the same, except I was in another galaxy."

"You think it's all good, then? The information we've got?"

"From an alien?" John shook his head. "Who can be sure, short of asking the guy face-to-face? They probably put him on a polygraph and everything. I can guarantee that this alien's been questioned repeatedly. If they believe him, they aren't just doing it because they want to. They must be sure about it."

There was a pause, as Daniel considered this. Yes, it made sense that the military would be thorough when interrogating an alien. He wondered if said interrogation had ever taken the form of the more 'forceful' kinds of persuasion the military was often known for. Sometimes he had his doubts about working with them. They could do things that he, personally, found morally questionable.

Daniel spooned some rice up to his mouth, his eyes flitting over John, and then to the woman seated alone at a table nearby. What struck him about her first and foremost was the uniform she was wearing; although it was still somewhat like the typical battle-dress uniform for someone on base, it was a more brown-shade than green, and there was the very obvious addition of a Russian flag at the shoulder.

"Hey, didn't the General mention something about a Russian?" Daniel asked, glancing at John. He looked up from his food. Daniel nodded towards the woman, who looked to be in her late-twenties, perhaps early thirties. She was slim, average build, with dark hair that was tied back. At the moment, she was fiddling with her touchscreen device, blue eyes focused on that and oblivious to the two men who were now looking her way.

"I thought they had their own team?" John asked, returning his attention to Daniel.

"Maybe it got disbanded?" Daniel could easily see that happening, given the overall political climate and the decreased funding. Disbanding SG-20 was unlikely to please the Russians, so getting at least one of them over here on some kind of exchange could easily have been a placating gesture. "What do you think?"

"Huh?" John gave a quick shake of his head. "Go on and say hello, Daniel. I'm sure she won't bite."

Daniel looked back to the Russian woman, pausing briefly to think of exactly what he could say.

"Excuse me," he called, and the woman looked up. "Are you the Russian exchange officer?"

"Exchange officer?" The woman's accent was apparent, although not to the point of being thick. "That would be me, although I'm merely a Sergeant." She narrowed her eyes, and a look of recognition appeared on her face. "You're Daniel Jackson, aren't you?"

"That's me." Daniel leaned forwards, reaching across the space between their tables to offer the woman a hand. "Pleasure to meet you."

"I've heard about you, Doctor Jackson." The Sergeant leaned forwards and shook the proffered hand. "I'm Sergeant Natalia Tarasovna. And your friend there must be Colonel John Sheppard."

John smiled her way, as Daniel settled back down into his chair. "I heard you might be assigned to this operation."

"What's your view on it?" Daniel asked her. "I mean, it doesn't seem odd to you at all?"

"Odd?" Natalia gave a light shrug. "What do you mean? If there's a hoard of advanced alien technology out there, we should go and check it out. Nothing odd about that."

Daniel nodded. This was a straight-laced way to think about it. Maybe he was just being overly cautious, but even with that in mind he was not going to back out. Truth be told, he had been somewhat hoping for something of this kind to come up, if only to get him back out there exploring the galaxy. In simplest terms, it was good to be back.

"What happened to the Russian team?" John asked her. "SG-20, wasn't that it? Are they still around?"

"There are only ten teams in operation," Natalia replied. "The rest have been disbanded. Most are purely for exploration and scientific purposes. I believe it has something to do with your government reallocating funding? I understand that my government was not entirely pleased to hear that their team was being shut down, but I suppose that's why I was sent here. Well, for that reason, and maybe they found out about what was being planned with this fortress. They want one of their own present on the mission, and that's where I come in." She paused for a moment, eyeing the two men with a friendly enough look, although there was something a little wry to it. "As you two probably know, my people have not had a good relationship with the stargate program. The irony there being is that the stargate here is on loan from my government and has been for something like twenty years."

"Yeah, well, we don't really have any part in that," John said carefully. "And I'm sure there's a good reason why we're keeping hold of it."

"Money, probably." Daniel could only imagine the political mire that the program had found itself stuck in. No wonder funding was being reallocated, especially if they had the likes of the Russians breathing down their necks the whole time.

"You would probably be right about that, Doctor Jackson."

There was a silence between them then, the conversation seemingly having run its course. Natalia returned to whatever it was she was doing on her tablet computer, while Daniel set his eyes upon John once more. Shovelling a helping of fried rice into his mouth, he could not help but think, with some concern, at just how much things had changed. And how much worse they had become. Even the atmosphere here was different. Back when he had been in SG-1, there had been a close-knit, almost family-like relationship with some of the people here. As it stood, he felt none of that now, and he could see very few of the other personnel present were even engaging in conversation with one another. The cafeteria was quiet, save for the sounds of the ice hockey game coming off of the television in the corner, the cheers of the crowd and the exclamations of the commentators.

His train of thought was interrupted when the latest three arrivals to the cafeteria walked in. Specifically, his attention went straight for the distinctly non-human figure being flanked by two guards, hands cuffed in front of him as he strode inside and took a look about the room, amber eyes flitting from one person to another. Daniel gestured with one hand towards the alien, the prisoner whom he had seen and read about in the reports, and John turned his head to look upon the alien himself. In a way, it was perhaps not the most 'alien' thing either of them had seen; bipedal and vaguely reptilian in appearance, Daniel was reminded of certain evolutionary theories of what life on other worlds might have looked like. Had they followed a similar evolutionary path to humanity, a potential outcome if their world was much like Earth? And if the dinosaurs had not gone extinct, would they have evolved into bipeds like humans?

The alien prisoner made his way over to the counter, taking up a tray in his hands before looking upon the food on offer. With some deliberation, he took up three cheeseburgers, the only three remaining, before grabbing four chicken wings and a bottle of water. Taking his meat-loaded tray back to a nearby table, he settled into a chair, all while the two guards who served as his escort watched him from close-by.

"That's him, isn't it?" John nodded his head as he said this, as if answering his own question. "They've had him locked up here for, what, a month? Two?"

"He's the one," Daniel said. "And he apparently likes greasy food." The alien in question bit down into one of the cheeseburgers, tearing a sizeable chunk out of it with a set of intimidating, pointed white teeth. Daniel watched him, unable to help but be fascinated. It had been years since he had last seen an actual alien. Sure, he had met plenty of humans from other planets, but an actual extra-terrestrial? Every time that happened, he felt almost giddy with excitement. They could learn so much from something like that, and before he knew it, Daniel was up and out of his chair.

"Daniel, what are you doing?" John watched him, concern creasing his brow, as Daniel walked up to the alien's table. Both guards approached him then, seeking to stop him, a precaution really.

"Doctor Jackson?" One of the guards put up a hand, getting the doctor's attention.

"I just want to talk to him," Daniel said. "Can I do that?"

"All right." The guard relaxed. "He hasn't been violent to anyone here, yet, but take care."

Daniel nodded in acknowledgement, before he sat himself down across the table from the alien. The way in which the alien, Valkas, eyed him as he wolfed down the rest of his cheeseburger suggested curiosity, even if his expression was a little harder to read. He was an alien, after all, and Daniel had no idea what the facial cues and body language on this guy might mean. Looking at him now, his face read much like a human's, and Daniel detected some amusement on there, if he was not mistaken.

"You're Valkas, aren't you?" Daniel asked him.

Valkas gave a short nod. Swallowing what was left of the burger, he picked up a napkin with his still cuffed hands and wiped the grease away from his mouth.

"This is hardly the kind of environment for another interrogation," Valkas said. His voice was rough, raspy even, although most certainly male.

"Oh, no, I'm not here to interrogate you." Daniel put out a hand to shake. Valkas looked at it, and then at the man himself. The frown he displayed suggested that he was not big on such pleasantries, so Daniel slowly retracted the offered hand.

"I just wanted to talk. Off the record. As you might have noticed, I'm a civilian. I'm not in the military."

"What are you, then?"

"I'm an archaeologist," Daniel answered. "I study history and…"

"I know what an 'archaeologist' is." Valkas let out a sigh. "I may be from another planet, but I'm not stupid."

Daniel supposed he might have to try a different tack here, since Valkas was apparently in little mood for small talk. Either that, or this was the way he was all the time.

"I'm Doctor Daniel Jackson. I'll be on the mission with you, the one to the stronghold?"

"You mean the place where I was locked up and tortured for a good while?" Valkas spoke matter-of-factly. However, there was a pained edge to his voice that Daniel picked up on right away. There were some bad memories there and thinking of the fortress had only dredged them up. "Just what good is an archaeologist there?"

"Well, I can offer my expert opinion on the things we find," Daniel explained. "Including whatever we find, technology-wise. That's why we're going, isn't it? To find Ra's secret hoard of exotic alien technology. The same one you went after."

"Yes, and it all worked out for me, didn't it?" Valkas picked up a chicken wing and bit into it with a loud _crunch_, as his teeth went through the crispy battered exterior with ease. "I got captured, I got tortured, and I escaped with a mix of sheer determination and dumb luck. Thing is, Doctor Jackson, I can't go back to my people. They think I'm dead, and if I do return, I'll be considered a failure. My life would be ruined. As it is now, staying here and enjoying human hospitality is preferable. I have no intention of returning to that fortress."

"But that is the plan. Someone who knows the layout needs to show us the way."

"Yes, that is the plan. And it's not a plan I'd agree with, normally, but I don't have much of a choice." Valkas' tone soured considerably as he spoke, all between bites as he finished off the chicken wing, picking it down to the bone with his teeth. "I supplied your people with the information about that fortress in good faith."

"Good faith?" It was Daniel's turn to frown, if only a little. "From my understanding, you gave it up in exchange for being able to stay here?"

"Your people threatened to have me dissected at a place called 'Area 51'," Valkas said. "Besides, I have no qualms about telling you of the fortress and what's inside it. My own people left me for dead there, and that's partly why I can never go back to them. I'm officially dead, and if I do return, well, I don't think there'll be a 'welcome home' parade for me." He sounded understandably annoyed, and Daniel could only imagine what it was like to know that you could never go home again. Teal'c had been in a similar situation for some years, yet even then Daniel could never truly know what it had felt like.

"Do you have any idea what we'll find there?"

"I was just a lowly Sergeant, in your terms. I was not told many of the details." Valkas paused, and his eyes settled firmly upon Daniel's own. "You say you study history?"

"Yes?"

"Perhaps you'd be interested in mine? That is, what I know of my people's background. I never paid much attention in history class, but I suspect some of what I learned there might have driven us to find that fortress." He lowered his voice then, into a near conspiratorially low volume. "Now, as I said, I wasn't told much. But there was some rumour that something important to our people's past is in that fortress. A relic, likely picked up by Ra from one of our outposts, forgotten over time."

"I read the reports," Daniel said. He listened closely, intrigued. Was he getting a little more detail here than anyone else had? If so, he would be sure to take it all in. "You said your people have been united? For nearly one thousand years?"

"Under the one flag, yes," Valkas said. "I don't know the stories well myself, but one thousand years ago someone by the name of Visala helped us in a time of need, and united our nations and colonies through doing so. Most of the details have been lost, but I know my commanding officer was certain we would find some kind of relic in that fortress, something that would help shed some light on this distant part of our history."

"Why are you telling me this?"

"Because you study history. You'll be able to make more sense out of it than I can." Valkas took up his bottle of water, unscrewing the cap before taking a sizeable gulp from it. "I have no idea what this relic looks like, or even if it's present at the fortress. This part of my people's history has been kept quiet to most, save for a select few of a more religious intent, and they aren't about to tell the world the details. Hence why individuals, such as my commanding officer, have to resort to going on field trips to Goa'uld fortresses."

"That's all pretty vague…"

"It's all I know. But I'm sure there are other things in that fortress which could prove useful to your people."

"Let's hope. I don't think Captain Bowers would be pleased if we came back from there empty-handed."

Now Valkas smiled, and he leaned back into his seat, as if relaxing.

"Captain Bowers strikes me as the kind of person who doesn't take any nonsense," he stated. "The kind of person I can respect. Unlike certain other people I've met around here." Daniel had a feeling of whom he was referring to. "But I doubt it'll be that much of a failure. From what I've learned, your people here are good at what they do. You did, after all, beat the Goa'uld."

"So, your people had run-ins with the Goa'uld?"

"Not very often. We made it very clear to them that they were not to come near our territory, because if they did, well…" He trailed off then. Regardless, the serious look on his face spoke volumes. This suggested that his race had been capable of fighting the Goa'uld effectively, perhaps even ship-to-ship. This, in turn, gave rose to all manner of questions and implications that Daniel's mind practically became abuzz with. Almost to the point of annoyance, even. Why had they not encountered Valkas' people before? They could have used their help. That was counting on the fact that they would _want_ to help humanity.

The reason as to why they had not met before was simple, Daniel realised; the galaxy was vast. Unimaginably so. They had barely scraped into it exploration-wise, even with the help of the stargates. How many other species were out there, capable of interstellar travel, with the power to take on the Goa'uld? How many other potential threats were waiting out there, looking for a world, a species, to conquer and subjugate? Or to feed upon, assimilate, or all manner of nasty things? It was a sobering thought, and sometimes Daniel did indeed wonder how he could sleep at night given all that he had experienced, and all that he knew. To know just how insignificant they were, in the grand scheme of things. It was the kind of thinking that could drive someone mad.

All the better reason not to spend so much time thinking about it.

"But our territories were far removed from any of those belonging to the Goa'uld," Valkas continued. "Our interactions with them were limited. Border skirmishes, mainly. No big wars, or anything like that. I believe they saw us as more trouble than we were worth." He paused then, eyeing Daniel, as if to gauge what he was thinking. "But my people did hear all about the pesky humans who destroyed the Goa'uld. That news found its way to my home-world, and we were all a little surprised to hear it. Pleased, but surprised."

"Well, I'm glad we here on Earth could be of service." Daniel said this jokingly, and Valkas smiled in turn, baring his pointed teeth. "So, how are you liking the food?"


	9. Loading Up

**Loading Up  
**March 23rd, 2022

Throughout his years in the Air Force, John Sheppard had encountered and worked with all manner of people. He had become a decent judge of character during that time, and when he found himself saddled with someone new for an assignment, he was usually able to work out just what kind of person they were, given a little time with them. Right now, he found that he was overall a little uncertain about this Colonel Thomas Bastion, a man who carried himself as someone who apparently knew it all and had accounted for every possibility. Also, here was a man who was willing to do whatever it took to get the job done, and his plan for the operation certainly indicated as much.

They were in the conference room again, with Daniel and Joanna and General Janssen. The last few days at Stargate Command had been spent preparing and reacquainting one's self with the general lay of the land, and of course wrapping one's head around the changes that had occurred over the years. John had been on the firing range for a while, doing what he could to fine-tune his shooting skills. That was one thing you did not easily forget, even if he had not fired a gun for a good six months.

This morning, it became apparent that the operation was going ahead, and they were all called to the conference room for a more detailed briefing. When John had walked in, Colonel Bastion was already present, and the table was covered in aerial photographs of Ra's stronghold. A few points had been marked in red, and Bastion was the one making the marks as he mapped out some kind of plan. Joanne, Daniel, Natalia and Janssen were seated at the table, along with six other men in Marines uniforms. They were mostly young, as was to be expected; able-bodied men in their twenties, all wearing uniforms that beared the shoulder patch of SG-3. That was the one team still in operation here that was purely made-up of Marines, intended specifically for the more combat-oriented ground operations. John wondered just how long it had been since they had seen any real action here, given the program's shift towards pure exploration. That, and the overall lack of any real threats from the greater galaxy. What good were Marines when there were no bad guys to fight?

Bastion must have been relishing this opportunity.

He was a tall, well-muscled man in his late thirties, with a military-style crew-cut and a face that was set in that stern, no-nonsense look so common amongst military officers. John was apparently the last one in, and he found all eyes turn his way as he entered the room.

"Good of you to join us, Colonel Sheppard." Janssen watched him closely as he walked inside. Nothing was meant by the comment, as John knew he was right on time. Everyone else had simply decided to get an early start.

"I had to use the bathroom," John replied, as he sat down in the empty seat next to Daniel. Before him was a large, blown-up aerial photograph of the fortress in full colour, laminated in plastic. Bastion had a red marker in his hand, and as soon as John settled down, he apparently took this as his cue to get a proper start.

"Is that everyone?" Bastion looked to Janssen for confirmation. The General nodded his head.

"Except Valkas," Joanne added.

"He'll get briefed on his own," Janssen said. "Go on, Colonel."

"All right." Bastion looked to Joanne and the others. "If I understand, dawn over on that planet is in roughly six hours?"

"That's right, Colonel."

"We'll use that as cover." Bastion put the marker to the point on the map where one could just make out the top of the planet's stargate. "The fortress, from what we've learned, is a massive complex surrounded by a town populated by locals who are, according to our alien guest, loyal to Ra. The guards are mainly Jaffa, and at dawn, they will be changing their shifts. Valkas has told us that there are two guarding the gate at all times. Those two are the primary threat to our approach, because if we don't take them out quickly, they can blow the lid on the whole mission." He put two 'X's by the stargate with the marker. "SG-3 will go through the gate first, followed by Joanne and her support team."

"Support?" John was a little confused here. He had assumed that he would be helping to lead the charge. Apparently, Colonel Bastion had other ideas.

"Yes, Colonel. Support. That's you, Sergeant Tarasovna and Doctor Jackson. My team will be there to serve as the muscle. Don't be so surprised, Colonel. Once we've secured an entry, most of my team will hang back to keep our way out secure. Captain Bowers will take Valkas along to lead the way into the fortress, through whatever path he took to escape it."

"Do we know what level of resistance we can expect?" Joanne asked.

"We only have the alien's word to go on, and our UAVs could only give us so much without being discovered. There's a good chance we've got a whole garrison of Jaffa stationed in the fortress at least, but given its remote location and secretive nature, then that's likely the most we'll run into. It's not anything we can't handle, just as long as we keep things subtle and don't blow our cover so soon."

Bastion put another red 'X' by some kind of stream that ran through the fortress.

"We'll set up camp here, where the stream breaks the fortress compound off of the town itself," he said. "There's an old building here which, according to Valkas, is abandoned. This is close to one of the drains which I believe Valkas said served as an escape route out of the fortress itself. From there, we should have access to the drainage and sewer system of the entire fortress." He looked to Joanne, seemingly set on this plan. "It'll be down to you, Captain, to get in the fortress and find what we're looking for. Does that sound good to you?"

"Like you said, we keep things quiet and we shouldn't have any problems." Joanne sounded confident, and Bastion nodded his head. John could see nothing really wrong with their plan of approach, it was the limited intel that worried him the most. Just how many Jaffa were there, really? Could they really count on there being only two guards at the stargate? And if they did blow their cover and alert the enemy, just what kind of resistance could they truly expect?

"I hope we can trust that alien," Bastion added, voicing the sentiments of most of the people here. "He could have fed us all a line of shit, and we could be walking into the most elaborate trap in history."

"He's on the level," Joanne said. She was convinced of Valkas' legitimacy, something which John himself could not be sure of. Aside from a brief interaction in the cafeteria the other day, John did not know what to make of the alien, or his promises of advanced technology. Daniel had spoken with him and learned a little about what had happened to him, but otherwise there were a fair few gaps in the information that even Daniel had noted.

"He'd have to be, since he's coming with us." Joanne leaned back in her seat, managing a barely noticeable smirk. "Otherwise I'll be the first to throw him to the wolves if the shit does hit the fan."

"That settles it, then." Bastion glanced to his team members, all of whom had been listening attentively. "We'll sort out our equipment. Rifles, grenades, suppressors." He then looked back at Joanne. "You can bring what you deem best."

"What about chain of command?" John asked. "Because we need to sort that out right now, before it becomes a problem out there." He gestured towards the stargate visible through the window behind him.

"Captain Bowers has final say," Bastion said. "But chain-of-command is otherwise normal. If there is anything the Captain does that you or me have a problem with, then we must both agree to overrule it. Given the nature of the mission, there should be little need for that. This operation is the Captain's first and foremost, the two of us are just along for our expertise."

"Doesn't sound like normal procedure…"

"There's nothing normal about this, Colonel. But if we stick to our plan and resist the urge to go in guns blazing, then we should be fine. We get in, grab what we can and get out. The only people who are going to be in any trouble are the bad guys, mark my words."

John could admire the confidence that Bastion displayed, and he could certainly look forward to finally going off-world again all this time. Still, he had his doubts, ones he knew he would have to set aside if only to allow himself to focus solely on the mission at hand. They had a job to do, and he needed to concentrate to his fullest to make sure nothing went wrong.

* * *

"So, Captain, I spoke with Valkas."

Joanne looked over to Daniel, curious to hear what the archaeologist's opinion on the alien was. They were in the armoury, the whole team, loading up packs and putting on combat vests in preparation for the coming mission. Their uniforms were typical for an SG-team, albeit in a drab sand-coloured camouflage to better fit in with the desert environment of the planet they were headed for. Joanne was fitting on her vest, equipped with armour plating that was supposed to be better at absorbing energy weapon blasts than normal Kevlar. According to what she had heard, it worked, to an extent, but as with such things one could never be certain until they were outright shot. Not an experience she intended to go through, anytime soon.

John was nearby, as was Natalia. Bastion was here as well, his team checking over their weapons whilst Bastion himself had begun to load a few sizeable grey cases with equipment. They would be taking a remote-controlled wheeled carrier through with them, to carry the extra items. Once the stargate was secure, it would be brought through and they would stash it somewhere safe. The carrier itself only came up to about waist height, fitted with six rugged all-terrain wheels and carrying capacity for a few hundred kilograms of equipment and supplies.

"He said a few interesting things," Daniel continued, as he strapped his vest over his sand-coloured uniform. The main armoury was a somewhat cramped affair, especially with all of them inside, if only because every bit of wall-space and even the centre of the room was taken up with cabinets and racks, each one packed to the brim with grade-A military hardware.

"Did he mention anything that wasn't in the reports?" Joanne asked him. She felt a little giddy, at the prospect of finally going out there. A mission that she had been planning for nearly a month, one that was going to help save the stargate program. To be on the verge of heading out, well, she felt like a child waking up on Christmas morning. Instead of racing out to the living room to find presents under a tree, she was racing off to find exotic alien technology on some far away planet. Life certainly took you to some surprising places.

"That's why I bring it up," Daniel said. "He told me that the reason his people went for the fortress in the first place, is because they thought there was something in there important to their history. Some kind of relic, even he didn't know the details." He gave a light shrug. "But that's it, really. It sounds like he was just a soldier following orders, so I guess it's not surprising that he was told the bare minimum."

"Some things are universal." Joanne picked up a pistol, specifically a standard-issue SIG P320 chambered for the 9mm round. The military had been replacing the older M9 Berettas with this particular model, given its ease of use, ambidextrous functionality and reliability. Joanne looked over to John, noticing that the gun in his waist holster was a bulkier, much older M1911A1. She supposed it was not surprising that Colonel Sheppard had his own personal tastes when it came to that sort of thing, specifically the fact that he opted for an older, sturdier classic instead of the newer, perhaps fancier stuff that they were being issued with nowadays.

"You really think he's telling the truth?" Daniel asked her. "About everything?"

"I spoke with Valkas more than once," Joanne answered. "And not once did I feel that he was lying. Vague, maybe. Withholding certain parts of his own story, sure. But about the fortress itself? I believe him. Still, you can never be too sure."

"That's why we're bringing him along, isn't it?"

"Partly." Joanne smiled. "He'll be our tour guide." She slid the pistol into her waist holster.

"If you don't mind me asking, Captain," Daniel said, from where he stood at the opposite side of the bench. "But have you been off-world before?"

It was a question that, for a brief moment, caught Joanne off-guard. Sure, she was still relatively new to the stargate program, and Daniel had probably found that out from either McClintock or just from his own research. He was an observant man, after all; had to be, as an archaeologist he needed to keep an eye out for details that would otherwise escape most people. Joanne adjusted the tightness of her vest, ensuring that it was snug but not to such an extent as to be uncomfortable. There was always that 'sweet-spot' when it came to fitting one's uniform and equipment, and it could make all the difference later down the line when you were tired, dirty and getting shot at.

"I've been on a few surveys," Joanne replied. "Guard duty, mostly. Making sure nothing bad happens to the researchers. You know, making sure no monsters jump out and snatch them."

"And were there, any, you know, monsters?"

"Nope." Joanne walked over to a rack at a wall, taking up one of the submachine guns resting upon it. Specifically, an MPX, chambered for the common 9mm cartridge. "It's been some time since any off-world team's encountered alien nasties."

"Huh." Daniel nodded his head slowly, as if thinking over this very carefully. "When I was in SG-1, we were running into 'alien nasties' just about every other week."

"Must have been fun."

Now Daniel shook his head.

"No, it, ah, really wasn't."

The Captain's attention shifted to the Marines, and she saw that the members of SG-3 were favouring the HK 416 rifle, complete with under-barrel grenade launcher, although one of the Marines had taken out a somewhat heavier M27 infantry support rifle. And then there was Bastion, who had already sorted out his own equipment and was now loading something much larger into one of the cases intended for the cargo carrier.

"Colonel," Joanne said, getting his attention. He looked over, having placed the large M60 machine gun into the case. "What's that for?"

"We'll call it 'Plan B'," Bastion replied, succinctly. He closed the case, latching it shut. Joanne supposed that one could never be _too_ prepared, and by expecting the worst, one would never be disappointed.

* * *

In the embarkation room, the team had gathered, complete with the mobile cargo carrier, as the minutes ticked on by to the time of departure. Here, Valkas had been brought out of his comfortable 'cell', this time around without handcuffs. He had been dressed in a uniform and vest, although he had been given no weapons. Even Joanne did not trust him enough with a gun, although the burly alien did not seem to mind. He stood near the ramp leading up into the stargate, rubbing his sore wrists while one of his escorts tucked away the cuffs that had been keeping his wrists bound.

Colonel Bastion was giving some last-minute instructions to his team, among them how they would approach the guards waiting on the other side. Joanne stood with her little subset of the team, including Daniel, Natalia and John, whilst they waited for the go-ahead from the General. Looking up at the window into the control room, Joanne could see General Janssen there, speaking with one of the technicians. As she watched, McClintock appeared from somewhere behind him, eyes going down to the team in the gate-room below, before his attention settled upon Joanne. He did not appear pleased, not that Joanne cared. The bureaucratic weasel could fume all he wanted, it would not change a thing.

"What's the climate like over there?" John asked this, his gaze on Joanne. She met it in turn and gave a light shrug.

"It's a desert, Colonel. So it gets pretty hot during the day."

"So, a real vacation spot?"

"Aside from all the Jaffa, then yeah, it's a real vacation spot." Joanne watched as Valkas stepped forwards, regarding the group with a curious look in his eyes.

"Everyone here is so heavily armed," he remarked, before opening his very empty hands. "But here I am, with only my bare hands to rely upon. That does not strike me as entirely fair, wouldn't you say?"

"It's a precaution," Joanne replied.

"You do not trust me, even after all this time?" Valkas did not sound annoyed, rather he was simply stating what he saw. "I suppose it's understandable. If our positions were reversed, then I would take the same 'precaution'. Still, we're headed somewhere dangerous, and I would prefer something that I might be able to use to defend myself."

Joanne shook her head, offering him a smile.

"I'm sure you'll be fine," she said. To say she was confident was an understatement; she and the General had spent a month trying to put this operation together. Nothing was going to mess it up now, not with the planning that had been put into it all. They knew what they were getting into, and they had the equipment to take care of any trouble they encountered. If anything, Ra's last fortress was home to a token presence of Jaffa, hardly anything an experienced team would have difficulty dealing with.

"I will voice my unease at being made to return to the very place in which I was held captive, not to mention the routine torture I received from my captors there," Valkas said. "It's not the kind of place I want to see again."

"And again, I'm sure you'll be fine. Big guy like you shouldn't have any problems."

"Such confidence, Captain, yet you still won't give me a weapon." He scratched at his chin, particularly at the two stubby, bony protrusions there. It made him appear thoughtful, and perhaps that was what he was doing; going deep into contemplation, something he had likely done a lot of during his time in captivity (when he was not watching cable television).

"We only give guns to people we can rely on." Now it was Colonel Bastion who spoke up, and he walked over to Valkas, stopping only a few steps from the alien. Their eyes met, with Bastion's stern, no-nonsense gaze levelling with Valkas' piercing amber eyes. For a brief moment there, it was as if the pair were eyeing each other up for a brawl, before Valkas visibly relaxed.

"Even the archaeologist?" Valkas nodded towards Daniel. The archaeologist in question looked up, caught off-guard by the remark. He held up a combat knife, an innocent look crossing his face.

"Which end do the bullets go in again?" He asked, a remark that made Bastion roll his eyes. Valkas let out a chuckle then, a deep, hearty noise that was both sincere and, Joanne thought, indicated that this alien was not as stern and intense as he let on. It was probably the first time that she had heard him laugh, as fleeting as it was.

"All right, Valkas." The alien turned to her. "You're with me. Doctor Jackson and Colonel Sheppard will also be accompanying us. Colonel Bastion and his team will lead the way, until we can find a place to setup a base camp. From then on, you're leading the way into the fortress."

"My memory may not be as reliable as you believe it to be," Valkas stated. "I may not remember the exact route I took in my escape…"

"You better remember," Bastion interrupted, his voice taking on a somewhat more hostile tone. Again, Valkas met his stern eyes with a much more level gaze.

"Don't worry, Colonel," Valkas said. "I'm sure it will all come flooding back. Remember, I'm going to be there with you. It wouldn't help me if I forgot the way and got us lost."

The General's voice broke through the PA system then, interrupting the exchange.

"_All right, Captain. We're all set."_ Joanne looked up at the window of the control room, meeting the General's gaze. Behind her, the stargate began to spin into life, the inner ring starting its steady turn as it moved to lock in the first chevron. Unlike most off-world stargates, the one in Stargate Command was a little slower, given the absence of a dial-home device (otherwise known as a 'DHD'). As such, there was a bit of a wait involved when dialling in an address.

"Take positions," Bastion ordered his team, and the group began to gather at the end of the ramp. The Colonel himself had slung aside his rifle and had instead retrieved a pistol from his waist holster. At the end of it was fitted a suppressor.

Joanne looked about to the rest of the team. Natalia was standing nearby, twirling about in one hand some kind of narrow blade. She noticed Joanne's curious observation and held the blade up for her to get a better look. It was fairly rudimentary in design, although Joanne thought that she had seen such a weapon somewhere before, with a small 'switch' jutting from one side of the hilt. It occurred to her that it was a little more sophisticated than a typical knife.

"Just something my grandfather used to carry," Natalia stated. "I like to bring it with me on assignments. For luck."

"Didn't know you were the superstitious type, Sergeant."

"I'm not. Usually, anyway." She tucked the blade back into its sheathe at her waist. "But if I'm going to another planet, I'm going to need all the luck I can get."

Joanne nodded her head. She could agree with that assessment. Even with all the planning, it was still an alien environment they were headed into. Anything could happen, a thought that induced worry, as much as it did the kind of thrill that Joanne used to get while flying. The thrill of delving headlong into some kind of dangerous situation, where nothing was absolutely certain. Of course, that would be selfish in these circumstances; she had other lives to look out for now, rather than just her own. This was not some training flight where it was simply her and the plane she had to watch out for, there were people on this team whom she would be in charge of. Even Valkas, with his generally stoic attitude. She had to look out for them all, and if anything were to happen to anyone here, well, she had no idea how she would cope with it.

Her reverie was interrupted by the activation of the stargate, as the last chevron locked and the wormhole opened up in all its blue, shimmering glory. The unstable splash of the vortex rushed forth, appearing as if a plume of water, before it swept back within itself and settled into the standing pool that was so familiar to her now. Two months ago, she had not even known such a device existed. Now here she was, about to go headlong through it and to another planet entirely. Life had its fair share of surprises.

Bastion started ahead, with his team following. Joanne loitered at the base of the ramp with the others, along with the cargo carrier which was loaded up with cases of equipment. Supplies, ammunition and, of course, the Colonel's 'Plan B'. John took up the vehicle's remote-control unit, ready to send it on through once Colonel Bastion gave the go-ahead. All they could do now was wait and hope things went smoothly.

Bastion and his squad disappeared into the wormhole, each of them swallowed by the rippling energy. As soon as the whole team was through, there was an extended silence as the rest of the group waited. Joanne found herself involuntarily tensing up, half-expecting something to go wrong right off the bat.

"I hope Bastion's got this under control," John said. "Otherwise this will be a very short mission."

"_That's the go-ahead, Captain."_ General Janssen's voice broke through the PA again, and Joanne let out a sigh of relief. _"The way ahead is clear."_

Starting up the gangway, Joanne motioned for the others to follow. John set the cargo carrier on a steady crawl forwards, as he started after her. Daniel, Natalia and Valkas followed, with Joanne taking a brief pause at the mouth of the wormhole. The thought of being broken down into one's component atoms and then reassembled at the other side was a disconcerting one, but so far it was yet to be uncomfortable. Cold, sure, but not uncomfortable. Taking a breath, she stepped into the standing pool of energy, allowing the cool embrace of the wormhole to take her in completely.

* * *

Up in the control room, Janssen watched the team embark with a sense of mixed satisfaction and unease. The latter was, primarily, caused by the presence of McClintock in the control room with him. The IOA liaison had watched the team leave without saying a word. It was not until he had watched the last of the team leave that he finally turned to the General, his face wearing a strangely neutral expression.

"If anything goes wrong, General." McClintock's voice was level, yet there was a layer of something else in it, one that made his threat all the more apparent. "Then it's your head. I'll have this place shutdown."

"We'll see, Darren," Janssen muttered in reply, as McClintock turned around and went for the exit. "We'll see."


	10. Intrusion

**Intrusion**

When Joanne emerged from the stargate on the other side, she was immediately struck by how much colder it was. Sure, the fortress was located in a desert, but at this hour, where the sun was only just peeking over the horizon, the temperature was much lower than it had been in Stargate Command. That was one thing about deserts she found a little irritating; how they could be so hot during the day, yet when night rolled around the temperature would plummet, essentially creating the very opposite conditions as to what was experienced during the daylight hours.

She had seen photos of the fortress, all of which had been taken from high-up by unmanned reconnaissance drones sent through the stargate. Standing amongst the vast compound now was much different to seeing it from high-up. For one, the sheer size of the place was staggering. The courtyard was flat and open, broken up with tall, sand-coloured statues of what she could only assume were of Ra and other powerful Goa'uld, complete with elaborately detailed outfits and massive head-dresses. The fortress itself was at the other end of the courtyard, with a set of wide steps leading up to a vast entrance lined with thick columns of sandstone. All of this was bathed in the subdued light of dawn, where the sky was set a deep purple and a silvery glow emanated from the three visible moons that hung in the sky at varying distances. Joanne looked behind her, back at the stargate, as the rest of the group came on through. As soon as the others were on the other side, followed by the trundling cargo carrier, the wormhole deactivated. Almost instantly, the large ring was empty, the energy dissipated, allowing Joanne to look at the large collection of mostly rectangular buildings that comprised the rest of the fortress.

In the town, most buildings were no more than three floors in height, mostly constructed out of sandstone. All were bathed in darkness, as the locals were presumably still fast asleep at this hour. Flags and religious symbols constructed from stone and wood were suspended between buildings and over the narrow winding streets, while the town itself was bracketed off of the rest of the fortress by a stream that ran roughly across the halfway mark of the compound as a whole. Three bridges crossed this stream at different points. The walls running around the fortress and the town were at least twenty feet tall, constructed of thick stone blocks with guard towers spaced at intervals. Despite the size of the place, it was quiet, and there appeared to be no immediate signs of life.

The stargate was set on a large stone platform, with steps leading down onto the courtyard level ahead. Joanne turned to where Bastion and his team had gathered, having spread out from the base of the steps with their weapons raised. Two armour-clad warriors lay dead nearby, both outfitted in elaborate Jackal-shaped helmets with glowing blue jewels for 'eyes'. Joanne motioned for her group to follow, and she noticed that Valkas seemed a little uneasy as he came down the steps. Memories of the place and what had happened to him here had likely been dredged up, and for the first time since she had met him she saw him walk far less confidently. Even so, he was doing a decent job of hiding his anxiety.

"Amazing," Daniel said, more to himself than anyone else. His eyes took in the fortress before them, vast as it was, if only because everything about it had been built to what Joanne reckoned was an unnecessarily large scale. "It's been a long time since I was in a place like this."

"The Goa'uld never do anything small, do they?" John remarked, allowing the cargo carrier to trundle down the steps before bringing it to a halt.

"I don't think 'small' was in Ra's vocabulary," Daniel replied. He walked down the steps, making his way for one of the two fallen Horus guards. Both were in the elaborate helmets, with some bronze-coloured armour-plating covering their chest and shoulders. Their staff weapons lay close to their bodies.

Daniel knelt by one of them, examining it briefly, before he pulled out a small black notebook.

"Now this is interesting," he said. Joanne walked over, along with John and Colonel Bastion. Valkas loitered nearby, eyes scanning their surroundings intently, on the lookout for any trouble.

"What is it?" Joanne asked. She saw nothing immediately interesting about this dead Jaffa. A single bullet in the back of the neck had killed him, likely delivered by Bastion himself. However, when Daniel gestured to the Jaffa's bare stomach, she realised right away what had got him so 'interested'.

"This isn't a Jaffa," Daniel replied. "This man's human." He put a hand to his chin, falling into careful thought. He looked over to the other dead Horus guard, and the same thing was apparent. "Both of them are human."

"So, what does that mean?" Bastion was the one to ask this, and the scowl on his face made it clear he did not really care for what it actually meant. They were the enemy, and human or otherwise, they still needed to be taken out.

"Well, I don't what it 'means', exactly," Daniel said. "But when I ran into Ra on Abydos, he had warriors at his disposal, but they weren't Jaffa. Just loyal human soldiers. I suppose it's the same sort of thing here."

"And why would he want to use humans?" John asked. "Jaffa tend to be stronger, because of the snakes in their guts. Isn't that right?"

"Longer lived, sure, and immune to most diseases. But a well-trained human can take on a Jaffa one-on-one if they have to." Daniel paused briefly, as he mulled over the subject. Already they had found something that intrigued him, something that suggested that maybe Ra had not been like other Goa'uld. Indeed, there were still things about that particular System Lord that Daniel had not been able to quite wrap his head around after all these years, especially when comparing him to those System Lords they had met afterwards.

"If the Jaffa are prone to rebellion, maybe he simply didn't trust them?" Joanne had read all about the Jaffa rebellion in the reports, as part of her getting fully briefed for working on the stargate program. Now the Jaffa were allies, save for some animosity with certain groups given how factionalised they were. Still, they could not deny that without the help of the people from Earth, they would still likely be living under the yoke of the Goa'uld.

"Maybe. I always supposed that the ones he brought to Abydos were a token force, since he was not expecting to run into any trouble there." Daniel shrugged. "Just something to keep in mind. Could be the remoteness of this place, or what he's keeping here. He might trust loyal humans better, rather than potentially rebellious Jaffa?"

"This is all interesting," Bastion interrupted, and it was clear from his tone that he did not find it at all 'interesting'. "But we should get out of here." He pointed to two of his Marines. "Roscoe, Branson, get rid of these bodies. Dump them in the stream." The two Marines did as they were told, each one grabbing one of the dead warriors before proceeding to drag them away. Joanne agreed with Bastion's decision to hurry things along.

"Let's find a quiet spot," she said. "We'll set up camp and find a way into the fortress." She turned to Valkas, who was standing a few metres from her. "You do know the best way in, don't you?"

"I know the way I came out," the alien replied.

"Let's hope they haven't bumped up security there since his escape." Bastion did not sound entirely confident in this, and he was probably expecting the worst. Joanne figured that if one expected the worst, then you would only end up disappointed but in a good way.

Bastion lead the group, once Roscoe and Branson had returned from hiding the bodies. They made their way towards the edge of the courtyard, where a low wall separated it from the stream that split the vast compound in half. The water was murky and smelled foul, no doubt the place where the town and the fortress's sewers connected and dumped the waste of the people who inhabited this place. Joanne did miss being a pilot, even more so now, as at least flying aircraft would spare one from wading through sewerage. For now, though, they crossed one of the bridges, the cargo carrier trundling along quietly after them, powered by a set of solar-powered batteries. The Marines remained in a somewhat spread-out formation ahead, scanning the buildings ahead for movement. They were under cover of darkness, so at a distance it would be hard to discern their figures. However, with each passing minute the sun rose that little bit higher, and the sky above began to shift from a deep purple into something more orange, as night turned to dawn.

Still, the place seemed quiet. It gave the impression of it almost being lifeless, although Joanne knew this was not the case. She remained in the centre of the group, with Daniel and John walking close-by, Valkas and Natalia behind her. It seemed that the Russian Sergeant had elected to keep a close eye on their alien companion, as neither she nor most of Bastion's team actually trusted Valkas.

There was a rundown sandstone brick building by the stream, right upon the edge. Here, weeds and vines had grown out of any semblance of control, and several had wound their way along one side of the old building, working themselves into whatever slight cracks they could find. From the outside, the place was a ramshackle mess, and it seemed apparent that no one actually lived inside. There was a set of wooden double doors at the front, and Bastion was first upon them.

Slinging his rifle back over his shoulder, he tried the doors. Pushing upon them hard, they creaked loudly but did not budge. Above them, over an old, worn and discoloured awning, was a window that had since been boarded over. Bastion motioned to one of his Marines and pointed up at the window, who got the message and scrambled up some nearby wooden crates in order to get upon the awning. Up there, he made his way for the window, using a combat knife to slowly pry away the rotting pieces of timber that covered the empty window-way.

"It's as good a place as any," Bastion said. His man above them took a few minutes to clear the window, having to do so quietly, as simply smashing away the timbers would create far too much noise. When he was finally done, he climbed inside. The team waited patiently for a minute or two, a wait that Joanne felt ill-at-ease over. If anyone was inside that house, then things could easily become complicated.

She was tense, so much so that when the Marine opened the front doors from the inside, she only realised just how tense she was when she relaxed. The double doors were pushed open, revealing a fairly large room on the other side, sparse and musty. The cargo carrier was able to fit inside, with the team following it in. As soon as they were inside, one of the Marines closed the door behind them. It was dark within, so Bastion took a few small portable lights off of the carrier and spread them about the place, providing some illumination to the dusty confines.

"This will be base camp," he said, keeping his voice low. "We keep it quiet. We don't know who else is around." He looked to Joanne. "Things should be secure here, Captain. I suggest we start on our way into the fortress. The sooner we get what we came for, the sooner we can get out of here."

Joanne nodded in agreement. The plan was clear, and she turned to Valkas, who was poking about some old wooden shelves at the far wall.

"Valkas," she said, causing him to turn around. "You're coming with me. We're going down into the stream, and you're going to show us the way in. Is that understood?"

"Perfectly, Captain."

"My team and I will back you up," Bastion said. "We'll leave the carrier here. This place was locked up, so we can safely assume that no one was living here."

"You don't want to leave anyone here?" John asked this question, and it was apparent that he had a different idea as to how to run the mission than Bastion.

"No need. If anything, this is our fall-back. Anything goes wrong, this is where we go. General Janssen isn't expecting us to check-in for another three hours. Hopefully, we'll be out of here before then."

"It's a big fortress, Colonel," Valkas commented. "I doubt we'd be able to get anywhere near the stash in three hours."

"We'll work it out closer to the deadline," Bastion said. "I don't want to spend anymore time here than I have to. In case you didn't realise, we haven't really got any backup. We're it."

* * *

Maybe he was a little rusty, it had been years since he had been off-world. John Sheppard might have organized this whole mission a little differently, if it had been down to him. When he had rocked up to the SGC only a few days prior, he had been given a stack of reports to read in order to acquaint himself with the mission at hand, as well as with anything that might have changed during his absence from stargate-related assignments. He had also been sure to practice down on the firing range, and as he had expected, shooting was something one did not easily forget.

Here on this faraway world, in a vast, expansive fortress, John felt some unease as the group was taken into the dirty, smelly stream of water running through the centre of the overall compound. The sun was about risen now, the sky turning the typically bright blue one would expect. The whole fortress was bathed in light, and the temperature had started to rise quickly. Give it a few more hours, and they would be facing Sahara-desert like conditions. John was no stranger to harsh environments, but like anyone else, he preferred not to bake in the desert heat. He had got enough of that sort of thing back home.

The stream was, as expected, dirty and filled with god-only-knew-what. Algae was clustered up along the edges, and underfoot John could feel not just mud, but pieces of timber and ceramics. Junk, really, dumped there by the locals. Not to mention the bugs that were buzzing around, not unlike mosquitoes but a little bigger. Were they poisonous? Well, so far no one had fallen over half-dead after a bite, so he could only assume they were not. That did not mean they were not carrying some kind of horrible alien disease, so when they did get back home it looked like there would be a long quarantine ahead.

John swatted one of the critters off of his arm, before it could sink its mean little proboscis into it. No one had briefed him about the damn bugs.

The stream itself was a few metres wide, and continued into the wall of the compound, where a drainage grate was located. Valkas lead the way in this direction, with Bastion and Joanne keeping pace with him. The rest of the Marines moved in a staggered formation, keeping an eye on their flanks and their rear as they moved along. Daniel moved a few paces ahead of John, who in turn was taking up the rear of the group with Natalia. No one said a word, and when they did, it was little more than a whisper. As morning fell upon this part of the planet, John could make out the sounds of people some distance away; voices, mainly, faint and muffled behind walls and around street corners, along with the general clatter of things being moved, doors and windows being opened and the like. It was the start of a new day, and the locals here went about it completely oblivious to the intruders lurking just under their collective noses.

Valkas came upon a rusted drainage grate, leading into a tunnel of sorts. It was large enough for someone to move inside at a crouch, and the latch keeping it closed was rusted to the point of uselessness. Valkas had no trouble pulling it open, and the team behind him stopped as Bastion and Joanne regarded the inside of the rank tunnel. Even from where he was, John could detect the stench emanating from inside, which was worse than anything coming off of the murky stream of water they had been wading through for the last ten minutes or so.

"Christ almighty," Bastion muttered. "This is it?" He glanced at Valkas, who stood by the tunnel entrance with his teeth bared in what John assumed was a dry smile.

"Unfortunately," the alien replied. "Unless you would prefer to try the front door?"

Bastion rolled his eyes.

"All right, lead the way." He stepped aside to allow Valkas into the tunnel. To his credit, the alien went inside without hesitation. He moved quickly, booted feet sloshing through the wastewater that had collected upon the floor of the tunnel. Bastion followed him inside, whilst Joanne paused by the entrance somewhat apprehensively.

"What's the matter, Captain?" John asked her, as he sloshed his way through the dirty water to come up alongside her. "Afraid you'll get dirty?"

"I'm already dirty, Colonel." Joanne slung her submachine gun around her back, before starting into the tunnel. "I just wasn't expecting this mission to smell so bad."

John let out an amused huff, while the Marines of SG-3 funnelled into the tunnel after her. He waited until they were all in before he joined them with Daniel and Natalia coming up behind him. He could not help but wonder why they had brought him along, as he was not anymore experienced at wading through sewerage than most of the other people here.

The inside of the tunnel was dark and the stench thick in the air. A few flashlights were brought out, providing some illumination of what lay ahead. John found himself moving at an awkward crouch, something that his thighs started to complain about almost immediately. As much as it annoyed him to admit it, he was getting too old for this. Most other guys in the service he knew, who were about his age, had worked their way into comfy desk jobs. John had no desire to do the same thing, even if his overworked body complained about it.

Thankfully, the tunnel opened up after about ten minutes of crawling about in the dark, hands finding their way into puddles of what John could only assume was the kind of waste one did not want to get their hands in (thank God for the combat gloves he was wearing). They had come into some kind of junction, where four tunnels connected into a somewhat larger, central area with running wastewater. These tunnels, or sewers, were a little larger than what they had just been inside of, perhaps unusually so. Not that John was going to complain, as he emerged into the underground junction and stretched his aching legs. Valkas was standing by the edge of the platform they had come upon, with a pool of brown water in front of him.

"This way," Valkas said, after a pause. He stepped into the water, ending up in it knee-deep. Wading through it, apparently unbothered by the smell, he climbed into the tunnel ahead and continued onwards. Bastion and the others followed, with John and Daniel taking up the rear again with Natalia. This time, the tunnel curved slightly, before they came upon a set of metal gratings above them. As they neared these, the sounds of machinery could be heard, the hiss of hydraulics and the clanking of metal upon metal. The smell of sewerage was overtaken by the smell of something burning, and it was under the large metal grating that Valkas brought the group to a stop.

"This should be loose," he said. Reaching up, he put his fingers through the metal grating and pushed. It was rusted and somewhat stuck in place, so Valkas pushed a shoulder against it, applying as much force as he could. After some struggling, it finally popped loose, and Valkas pushed it aside before scrambling into the room above. Bastion was the first to follow, readying his rifle as he climbed up. Whatever awaited them up there, it could have been anyone or anything. They were going in blind, really.

"You think we're underneath the fortress?" Daniel asked. He had been quiet for much of the time they had spent in the sewers. John looked over to him and gave a short nod.

"Should be," he said. The Marines went up after their Colonel, before Joanne and the others followed. The room above was some kind of machinery area, leading off into a dark, underground tunnel. There was a furnace down here, belching flame from a rusted grating in its centre. Some form of Goa'uld power source was also here, concealed within a battered metal column with a control panel before it. Daniel surveyed the controls, curious, but it must not have been anything terribly important as he did not say as much.

The tunnel ahead wound its way up. For about twenty minutes the group followed it up to the surface, the air becoming gradually clearer the higher they went, as the smell of sewerage and mineral ores thinned. This had been part of some kind of mine, John surmised.

The tunnel finally bottomed out, and they reached a door that was, unsurprisingly, locked shut. There was no visible control panel on their side, from what John could tell, and judging from Joanne's look of annoyance, she had noticed this as well. Valkas, on the other hand, was already climbing up the nearby wall, heading for a slim grating that was some distance above the door.

"There's a mechanism on the other side," he said, as the others looked up at him. "No need to stare. I'm taking the initiative. I'll get it open, don't worry."

"Hang on." Bastion stepped forwards, his rifle raised and pointed towards Valkas. "How can we trust him to do that? Someone else should go up there."

"You can if you want, but I know the security systems here better than anyone else. I spent months memorising codes and the layout of this place. If they've changed anything, I'll know." Valkas said. A valid point, John thought, not that Bastion appeared convinced.

John put a hand to Bastion's weapon, lowering the barrel a little as to dissuade the man from shooting their guide.

"Let's just lower the bravado level in here. It's starting to get stifling." He offered the Marine a forced smile and Bastion brought his rifle down, although his reluctance was apparent. John turned to Valkas, who was still halfway up the wall.

"Is there anything beyond that door we should know about?" He asked him.

"Other than potential guards, very little." Valkas sounded sincere.

"Go on through," Joanne said. Bastion frowned at her but said nothing. Valkas nodded his head in acknowledgement of the order and scrambled his way inside. He disappeared into the ventilation shaft, and for a while the team were left waiting. It was an agonising wait, John found, and he was not alone in this line of thought. Joanne milled about impatiently, while Daniel sat himself down against the wall and took off his glasses and boonie hat. With a handkerchief, he began to wipe some of the grime off of the lenses. A fire burned from a torch set into the wall nearby, casting flickering yellow light across the team.

"He's abandoned us," Bastion said suddenly. About five minutes had passed when he spoke, and John felt that little seed of doubt in his mind grow ever so slightly as part of him began to believe the same thing. He refused to be put out quite like Bastion was, whereas Joanne maintained a straight face with a fire in her eyes that belied her growing anger. She was volatile, this much was apparent, she was simply doing a good job of keeping her emotions in check.

Finally, the door slid open, grinding on its ageing housing. Heads turned and weapons raised before Valkas appeared in the doorway, an innocent look on his face, his arms raised in a 'what are you going to do?' sort of way. John relaxed, as did Joanne, even if he half-expected her to slap the overgrown lizard for making them wait so long. Behind him was another dingy tunnel, and near his feet was a dead guard of some variety, staff weapon lying next to him.

"Your handiwork?" John asked him.

Valkas gave an almost proud smile.

"Impressed, Colonel?"

"No, not really…"

"All right, everyone." Bastion scowled at Valkas, but otherwise kept his disdain of the alien to himself. "Lead the way." He gestured for Valkas to go on ahead, and that he did. Once again, the team was on the move. By this point, they were underneath the fortress itself. John supposed they were close to actually getting inside it, and Valkas moved with more confidence now. This was familiar territory to the alien, that much was apparent.


	11. Bathhouse Rock

**Bathhouse Rock**

Valkas lead the way, with Bastion and the others following. He knew this place well, as being here had brought all the memories flooding back. Mostly unpleasant memories, of course, even if they came mostly from his escape from this place. Coming back here had not been part of his plan, but the humans had insisted, and who was he to argue? They had been kind enough to supply him with comfortable living quarters and the means of entertaining himself through the long, boring days interspersed with interrogations and the occasional medical test. If anything, the humans had gone to some lengths to determine the ins-and-outs of his physiology, short of dissecting him. They must have taken gallons of his blood over the last month or so and had presumably run every test conceivable upon it.

Joanne followed a few steps behind him. She was keeping a close eye upon him now, as they worked their way through the old mining tunnels. From what Valkas could determine, there had been an ore mine underneath the fortress, and whether it had been there before the fortress had been built or after, he did not know. If anything, the place had seemingly been decommissioned many years before, perhaps decades, even centuries. These Goa'uld were long-lived, after all. Living for centuries was normal for them, especially for someone like Ra.

It was strange, to look at these humans and to realise that they were the ones who had done such a thorough job of dismantling the System Lords. They had cheated, of course, reverse-engineering alien technology to give them a much-needed technological edge. Yet, looking at them now, it was hard to imagine them as the ones who had done so much damage to so many alien tyrants. His own people had kept to themselves, in their own little corner of the galaxy, for many years. It was seen to be the better alternative, instead of expanding to such a point you encroached onto others who might not take kindly to it. And the Calsharan people had a sizeable empire of their own, anyway. They did not _need_ to expand.

"When I was last in here," Valkas said, directing this to Joanne, "I was beaten and bloodied. I think that I had already been shot twice by a staff weapon by this point."

"You're a big guy," Joanne remarked. "You can take it."

The tunnel ahead continued for some distance. Parts of the wall were natural rock, carved out centuries before by whatever excavating machines the Goa'uld had at their disposal. Other sections were constructed of the bronze-coloured metals that species favoured in many of its facilities and ships. There were some lights down here, spaced at intervals along the walls, providing subdued yellow illumination throughout. Yet despite this indication that these tunnels were part of the greater whole, there were seldom any guards down here. Valkas would know, he had spent a few days in this maze of maintenance corridors and mining tunnels. He had memorized the movements of the guards and had disposed of those who had been directly in his way.

"Have you ever been wounded in battle?" Valkas asked the Captain. Everyone else was fairly quiet, and Valkas was not one who enjoyed silence. It was awkward, he felt, and given the lack of frequent patrols down here there was little risk that a bit of conversation would get them discovered.

"No," Joanne replied. She did not sound too keen on the discussion, but Valkas pushed ahead with it as they moved on through the tunnel.

"Well, I can say it's a wholly unpleasant experience," Valkas continued. "Tell me, Captain, have you seen much fighting?" Now this was something he had been curious about, ever since he had met the Captain. She had been a pilot, and through some twist of fate, had ended up in the stargate program. Despite the way she carried herself, there was something about her Valkas had noticed that suggested that she was, perhaps, not the same kind of battle-hardened individual that Sheppard and Bastion came across as.

Joanne took a moment to reply.

"I was a pilot, first and foremost," she said, meeting his eyes. She held her submachine gun in a relaxed position, although it was likely that could change at a split-second's notice if need be. "Why?"

"I'm simply curious." Valkas took them around a bend in the tunnel. He remembered this one, and he knew then that they were near to a way in. At least, a way into the fortress that was not heavily guarded, unlike the front door, for instance. "You carry yourself with confidence, but you do not strike me as someone who has seen much battle."

"I know how to handle myself."

"Yes, I'm sure you're well-trained. But have you ever taken a life?" Valkas might have stopped there, as it was not really any of his business. At least, it would not be if he did not have her watching his back. He needed to know if he could rely on her if the situation worsened. Why they had two experienced officers with them suddenly began to make more sense, given how this mission was supposedly Joanne's first and foremost.

"Keep moving," Joanne stated, her tone firm. She nudged him lightly with one arm to coax him onwards, not that he needed any coaxing. If anything, this answered his question right away. At the same time, he could not think any less of her; in fact, she was probably the only human he trusted to any extent.

"Did I mention that my own people left me for dead?" Valkas said to her, as they kept moving along.

"Yes, you have. More than once." Joanne frowned at him. "And I'm sorry to hear that, again, but now's hardly the time for idle chit-chat. How much further do we have to go?"

Valkas had brought them to the start of a corridor, built in typically Goa'uld design. At the left-hand side, the corridor came to a halt, with a ladder set against the wall. Valkas motioned to the team to follow him, as he started towards it.

"Not very far now," he replied, as he led Joanne and the others to the ladder. Above it was a metal grating set into the ceiling, and Valkas promptly climbed the ladder to give it a try. It was loose, and just as he was about to push it open, Bastion stepped forwards and levelled his rifle at him.

"Not so fast," the Colonel snapped. Valkas looked down at him, and then to the gun, unfazed by the Colonel's display of authority. He jumped off of the ladder, his powerful legs absorbing the short fall with ease. Squaring a level gaze towards Colonel Bastion, Valkas casually gestured to the ladder.

"Up there," he said. "That's the way in. It's a bathhouse. I think it's reserved for Goa'uld use, but since there aren't any of them around it should be empty."

Bastion lowered the gun, visibly relaxing. Valkas could understand the response, if only because he did not trust the Colonel in turn. The man was simply making it clear that at the end of the day, he was in charge, and that their alien 'friend' was only here to point to the way in. Without him, they probably would have become lost inside the labyrinth of tunnels some time ago.

"Okay," Bastion said, as he turned to the rest of the team. He then settled his eyes upon Joanne. "SG-3 will secure the bathhouse. Once it's clear, you can bring up Valkas and the others." He checked the watch at his left wrist. "We've got about an hour before we're scheduled to check-in. We'll keep this way open, and that means I want both Colonel Sheppard, Sergeant Tarasovna and Daniel Jackson to remain here. That way they can work their way back to the gate and let the SGC know what's going on."

"Wait a second." John sounded a little confused. "We're not here just to be the rear-guard, Colonel. If anything, I should be up there with the rest of your team…"

"You're here for your experience, not to be in command," Bastion interrupted. "One Colonel is enough leading the team. You'll stay here, with Jackson and the Russian. You shouldn't have any trouble finding your way back, my guys left some chemical flares along the path we took. Just follow them, once the time comes. For now, you'll remain in the bathhouse and keep any hostiles off of our rear."

John nodded his head slowly. He did not agree with it, but he also did not want to argue. Valkas could tell that Colonel Sheppard was used to being in charge, although from his understanding, the Colonel had been out of this kind of work for some time. Presumably, he was here more at Joanne's request, then anything else. And in typical fashion, the hard-line Colonel Bastion wanted him out of the way. Being a Captain, Joanne could not argue, even though it was apparent from the look on her face that she wanted to do just that.

Bastion was first up the ladder. He pushed the barrel of his rifle against the grating, slowly pushing it up and aside. With caution, he climbed up and into the bathhouse, rifle raised as he scanned the surrounding room for any sign of hostile activity. After a moment, he signalled for the Marine waiting on the ladder after him to come up, and they did so, with the rest of SG-3 slowly filing up the ladder and into the room above. Joanne climbed upon the ladder herself, peeking her head up in order to get a look into the bathhouse itself.

* * *

Elsewhere in the fortress, a small red light began blinking upon a control panel. The guard there saw this, and with one gauntleted finger tapped the controls near it, as if uncertain of its reliability. Yet it kept flashing, and with a few button presses a holographic layout of the fortress appeared over the terminal. Three-dimensional, mostly yellow and partially transparent, a large red dot had appeared in a room near the base of the fortress itself, in a sector that had not seen regular activity for some time. Communications device in one hand, the guard sent an alert to the patrols closest to this area, all the while wondering just who could possibly have found their way inside at that point.

* * *

The bathhouse was a fairly open room, large and with mostly empty pools at either end. Ferns and shrubs grew from stone planter boxes lining each pool and the walls, with stone sculptures of a somewhat vague ancient Egyptian design to them set out against the stone columns that supported the ceiling within. The pools were filthy now, the water puddled within them dirty and covered in leaves and algae; the statues were a patchwork of flaking metallic paintwork, having not seen any maintenance for many years. There were two exits here, one at either end. Joanne took in their surroundings from her spot on the ladder, head up above the floor, all while Bastion and his team spread out.

There were two large skylights in the ceiling, each one set in place over a pool. They must have been in a lower section of the fortress, some quiet little corner intended for private use by whatever overlord was using this place as their holiday home at the time.

"You sure they didn't improve security since you got out?" Joanne directed this question to Valkas, who was standing by the ladder below her, arms crossed. He looked up at her and gave a light shrug of his shoulders. A very human gesture, but Joanne supposed that some things were universal.

"How should I know?" He countered.

"Your opinion?"

"My opinion is that I shouldn't even be here," Valkas said. "But you people obviously don't care about that opinion."

Joanne rolled her eyes. Sometimes Valkas could be a little passive-aggressive, either that or it was just the way his species was as a whole.

Joanne climbed up and out of the hole, with John, Daniel and Natalia following. Valkas came up last. For now, the place was quiet, and Joanne found herself relaxing a little in the strangely tranquil atmosphere of the bathhouse, even if it was filthy and carried a similar smell to a public bathroom that had not been cleaned properly for months. Bastion and his team had spread out, checking every corner of the room before they relaxed, ever so slightly. Joanne stopped by the edge of one of the pools, looking down into the murky water that was collected near the bottom. She considered filling her canteen, but the sight of the dirty water put her right off that idea.

Behind her, Daniel had sauntered over to one of the statues, examining it closely and taking notes inside his little black notebook. Even when they had been down in the tunnels, he had been jotting down notes, as if he intended on writing an essay about Goa'uld plumbing. It was strangely admirable, in a way. Here they were, guns out and sneaking around, while there was Daniel at the back taking in everything in his own way, writing things down and taking photos with a small digital camera, one tha had been assigned to him by Stargate Command for the purpose of research. He was certainly making good use of it.

"You know what really gets me?" This was John, and he had stopped a few paces from where Joanne stood.

"What's that, Colonel?"

"Just how quiet this place is." He looked about the room, as if expecting something to jump out at them. "I don't want to sound cliched, but it's almost _too_ quiet."

Joanne had to admit, it did strike her as a bit odd. Still, this place had clearly not seen any real use for years. In fact, it was apparent that much of the fortress was the same way. Lightly guarded and falling apart in places, it appeared that no matter how loyal the people here were to Ra, they were only serving a custodial role. Just how many warriors were here, all up? One-hundred? Probably not even that many. They were relying on the secrecy and remoteness of this place, and not its defences to ensure that it was protected from outside forces.

"Hey, Valkas," Joanne said, turning to him. He was standing near Daniel, looking upon the statue with a similar level of interest as the archaeologist. The two were in the middle of a quiet conversation, at least until Joanne interrupted them. Valkas turned around, one brow-ridge quirked slightly.

"Yes?"

"Where did you say your people got the location of this place?"

Before he, or anyone else, could reply, one set of double doors at the end of the room swung open. Three helmeted Horus guards barged inside, staff weapons raised. Almost right away they opened fire, a staff weapon blast slamming into the nearest of Bastion's Marines. The blazing bolt of yellow energy struck the Marine in the chest, a puff of smoke and a crackle of light blazing across his torso as the shot lifted him off of his feet and sent him falling backwards into one of the pools. Dust was disturbed off of nearby surfaces, sending him a hanging cloud that rose in the wake of the Marine's death. That Marine landed in a heap within the murky, algae-riddled puddles at the bottom of the pool, smoke wafting off of the charred hole that had been blasted through him.

"Contact!" One of the Marines shouted, for all the good it did, and right away the others, scattered about the bathhouse, turned their attention to the intruding guards. The set of double doors at the other end of the room swung open, and another three of the helmeted Horus guards came racing inside. Joanne swung around to face them, whilst the other team members behind her raced for cover. Daniel stumbled behind one of the statues as a staff weapon blast blew a chunk out of it, showering him with sandstone pieces. Valkas dived to the floor, all while John and Natalia darted behind one of the nearby stone planter boxes. Joanne watched as the imposing armoured guards rushed inside, and right then and there she knew that things had gone so, so very badly.

Weapon raised, she took aim at one of the guards, while behind her Bastion and the Marines laid down fire on the other group. The bathhouse was full of the sound of gunfire, mostly the rapid _tak-tak-tak_ of automatic weapons and the sharp thunderous roar of staff weapons. Another of the Marines was hit, the force of the impact enough to send him twirling before he hit the ferns behind him and fell upon them spread-eagled, leaves fluttering, blood smearing upon the green.

Joanne went to fire, but before she could another staff weapon blast came flying her way. This one hit the tiled floor beside her, exploding in a flash of energy, sending up pieces of tiles and a cloud of dirt and dust. The sheer concussive force of the blast knocked her over, and she found herself falling upon the tiled floor, one hand still clutched around her submachine gun. She was exposed, she knew this, and as soon as she hit the floor she was crawling for the relative safety of the nearby set of ferns and the ornately-tiled sandstone box they were set within. Another staff weapon shot sheared through them, burning away pieces of the plants, before the shot hit a column nearby and blew a sizeable chunk out of it. Joanne covered her head as shards of tile and sandstone came raining upon her.

Her heart was pounding, the adrenaline surging through her. Just what the hell was she going to do? The warriors were moving in to surround them. Nearby, John and Natalia opened fire from behind one of the sandstone planters, rifles thundering. Bastion and his Marines were scattered about, with one of them laying on the fire upon an incoming guard. Said guard seemed determined to advance, as if confident the Earth weapons could not harm him. He was mistaken, for even as some of the rifle rounds pinged off of his chest plate, others penetrated, particularly at the stomach. The warrior, with the elaborate, moving bird-shaped helmet, went falling backwards with several bloody holes shot through him. Yet even this small victory came at a price, as another of the warriors blasted the Marine responsible in the side, sending him falling, smoke wafting off of the sizeable, smoldering hole that had been shot into him.

"Fall back!" Bastion shouted. He spun around as one of the warriors rushed along his left flank, before firing a rifle volley into his gut. This sent the warrior stumbling backwards, before he hit the wall behind him and slumped against it, leaving a bloody red smear in his wake.

Valkas was prone nearby, close to where Daniel had taken cover. One of the dead Marines was near him, sprawled over a set of ferns. His rifle was within reach, and Valkas started to crawl for it. However, before he could reach it, a staff weapon blast slammed into the floor near him. Valkas rolled over, slightly singed by the heat of the blast, deterred from making another go for the weapon. Joanne leaned around the planter box she was pinned behind, firing haphazardly about the side. The MPX submachine gun rattled in her grip, each shot kicking up dust from the wall beside her. Bullets clipped the tiled floor and tore holes into the wall at the end, with two of the warriors making for opposite stone columns for cover.

Joanne's weapon suddenly clicked on empty, and she retreated back behind the planter box, working the magazine release quickly. The empty magazine clattered upon the floor next to her, before she pulled another from her vest and slammed it home into the weapon. Cocking it, priming a round into the chamber, she watched as another of the Marines went down ahead of her. He had pulled a grenade from his belt and had gone to throw it in the direction of the warriors. Instead, he had been blasted in the chest, his corpse landing only a few metres from where Joanne was crouched. She watched as the grenade, still armed, fell from his grasp as he went down and started rolling in the direction of Bastion and his remaining Marines. Joanne could do little else but watch with growing horror, in the few seconds she had, as she realised what was about to happen. Bastion was shooting away at the two warriors ahead of them, with the other three at the opposite end still laying down constant staff weapon blasts.

"Colonel!" Joanne shouted. As Bastion turned to her, the grenade went off. Joanne threw herself to the floor, hands over her head as the detonation roared before her, sending her ears ringing. The explosion was sharp and sudden, a deafening _thump_ that reverberated throughout the room. One of the Marines was sent flying, whereas both Bastion and the other Marines disappeared within the detonation.

Joanne was showered with debris, and as she rose to her feet again, she saw that a severed, charred arm had landed near her. Overcome with revulsion, she swatted it away, her ears still ringing. Now John was there with her, she saw, and as he rushed for her position, she watched him cut down one of the warriors with concentrated rifle fire. Suddenly, he was right in her face, one hand grabbing her by the arm in order to help her up. A staff weapon blast struck the top of the planter box above them, dust and debris falling upon the pair. Joanne's ears were still ringing, and smoke and dust lingered all around from the explosion. Through it, staff weapon blasts crackled, each one landing with a thunderous boom. She had been trained, certainly; she had been shot at, but always within a controlled environment. Not once had she taken a life, nor had she seen someone else die. This was anything but a controlled environment.

Colonel Sheppard was yelling at her. She could hardly make out what he was saying, yet he was gesturing to the doors at the far end. Only one of the warriors at that end was still standing. Behind the pair, two encroached upon them, laying down staff weapon fire in an effort to keep them pinned. As the ringing in her ears faded, Joanne was finally able to discern some of what John was telling her.

"…cover us!" He pulled a grenade from his waist. It was a smoke grenade, Joanne saw. The expression on the Colonel's face was set in grim determination, yet he seemed remarkably calm. "You get around the side, we'll take him out and advance!" John did not wait for her to reply, or to even simply acknowledge the instructions. Instead, he pulled the pin on the smoke grenade before tossing it in the direction of the two warriors approaching from their six. Right away, thick white smoke began to plume from the grenade, and it only became thicker once it landed and settled partway across the room, between the team and the two warriors approaching.

John gave Joanne a light shove towards the nearby pillar, and she realised that he wanted her to flank the warrior at the other end. Straight away, John was laying down covering fire, alternating from shooting at the single warrior taking cover behind a pillar ahead, and shooting through the cloud of smoke behind them. Natalia and Daniel were doing something similar, while Valkas remained in cover, still unarmed and with little other choice but to keep his head down.

Joanne moved along the path running by the wall, coming up on the warrior. He must have heard her coming, since he stepped out to face her, staff weapon raised. Joanne did what instinct told her, and that was to pull the trigger of her weapon and hose the warrior down with bullets. Each shot sent the warrior jerking and convulsing, sparks flying as some of the rounds hit his armour, blood spurting forth as others penetrated clean through. Joanne stopped firing as the warrior fell backwards, riddled with about a dozen bloodied holes. She watched him fall, staff weapon firing as some last vestige of life caused his fingers upon the weapon to twitch. The shot flew wide, slamming into the ceiling, causing a shower of dust before the warrior finally hit the floor. Joanne was still for a moment, stunned really, having taken a life for the first time. Most service personnel hardly even saw combat, yet here she was, a pilot by trade, now on an alien planet shooting bad guys. And for a moment there, she really could not make sense of it. How could everything go so wrong, so very quickly?

She shook herself out of her reverie and pressed forwards. There was no time to dawdle, no time for introspection. They had to get out of here, before more of these people showed up. John was already rushing for the exit, followed by Daniel, Natalia and Valkas. Behind them, the two other warriors came after them, staff weapon blasts flying their way. Joanne opened fire at the pair, sending them into cover as she emptied the remaining half of her weapon's magazine. John kicked open the doors and rushed into the corridor, weapon at the ready in case they were met with further surprises.

The remaining members of the team raced into the corridor outside. Valkas moved into the lead, gesturing for the group to follow.

"Come on," he said, as they started down the bronze-coloured metal corridor. "I know somewhere we can lay low."

There was no time to debate this. Joanne and the others rushed on after Valkas, who moved quickly, his powerful legs carrying him faster than the humans who followed. He seemed to know the way, familiar with the fortress and its layout. He had not given many details of his escape from this place, but it was apparent that he had planned it in detail before carrying it out, and much of the path he had taken was committed to memory.

So much for a 'token force' of Jaffa, she mused. They had been found out, and now they ran for their lives, lest they get overwhelmed. Joanne wondered, if only briefly, just what else could potentially go wrong. It was perhaps just her luck, to be given her own mission and for it to go wrong so spectacularly.


	12. Enemy Territory

**Enemy Territory**

It was not the first time John had been involved in a mission that had gone wrong. It was, in a way, to be expected, given the nature of the work. No one could be prepared for everything, it was simply a matter of planning and preparing one's self for as much as they possibly could, whilst being able to think on the fly and improvise where necessary. Still, that did not make their current situation any better. Stuck in a hostile fortress, with foes bearing down on them from all directions, they were outnumbered and simply outgunned. Staff weapons might have been large and unwieldy, often inaccurate even in well-trained hands, but given the amount of staff weapon-wielding foes after them, their odds were not the best. Add to that the obvious trouble Captain Bowers was having with the situation, and John could see all the makings of what some of his Air Force buddies would describe as 'FUBAR'.

They had found some kind of musty storage room somewhere within the fortress. Valkas had lead them there, presumably a hiding spot of his that he had used during his escape a couple months before. Once they were inside, Valkas had pulled off the control panel by the door and had adjusted a few of the glowing crystals inside, causing the door to slide shut and to lock. No one on the outside would be able to open it, he assured them, and his knowledge of the intricacies of the technology here was notable. Likely something else he had picked up during his imprisonment, the mark of someone who had been very determined to escape.

As soon as they were inside, standing amongst metal crates and the like, bathed in a subdued yellowish flow from the light fittings above them, it was Natalia who spoke first. She pointed a finger at Joanne, who leaned back against a crate, her breathing heavy and laboured. They were all exhausted now, adrenaline rushing through their systems, for now at least. And as it faded, all that was left in its wake was a feeling of weariness. Valkas, on the other hand, did not appear any more or less tired than he had been back at the bathhouse.

"You didn't count on this, did you?" Natalia asked, looking straight at Joanne, who had been staring off at a wall. Now her eyes went to the glare Natalia was giving her, and she frowned in turn.

"Count on what?" She asked. The tension in her voice was blatant, and as John watched, he got the increasing sense that there was about to be a fight. In his experience, a team that fought amongst itself was far more likely to end up in further trouble. Daniel stood nearby, watching the pair with a similar level of concern as John. The archaeologist appeared remarkably calm, despite everything. He was used to this kind of danger, of general craziness; so was John, whereas Joanne on the other hand had apparently never actually shot anyone before. Certainly not face-to-face, as dropping bombs out of planes was distinctly more impersonal.

"They knew we were in there," Natalia said. "How could they have known?" Now she directed this question to the group as a whole. Valkas was the one who offered a reply.

"Motion sensors," he stated. "I noticed one in the bathhouse, by the trapdoor we used. They must have put that there after I escaped." He shook his head slowly. "There was no way we could have known about it. It wasn't there when I went through."

"Motion sensors?" Natalia shook her head. "All this planning, and we're foiled by a motion sensor?"

"To be fair, the Goa'uld never really used that kind of thing in the past," Daniel said. He was doing his best to be the voice of reason, in order to defuse the volatile situation forming amongst the group. "In fact, they were never too big on security measures save for some force-fields here and there. I guess that whoever's in charge of this place isn't like most Goa'uld."

Valkas seemed to bristle at the suggestion, not that anyone else noticed, save for John. The alien was usually stoic, so the mention of the person in charge getting even a slight anxious movement from him was worth making a mental note of. No doubt Valkas had been tortured by this very individual.

"So, what now?" Natalia asked aloud. She looked to Sheppard, and then to Bowers. The latter had no immediate response, and was still looking off at the wall, as if deep in contemplation. That, or she was still reeling from what had just happened. And why would she not be? Captain Bowers, from what John had learned, had never been in a real fight before. Certainly not something to the extent of what had occurred in the bathhouse. She had only ever been a pilot up until recently, and John found the fact that she had been given this mission to be a little unusual. There was something more going on here, and he could not help but feel a sort of sinking feeling as he considered all of this. The mission had been rigged from the start, not that he could truly determine how and why that might be.

"We continue with the mission," Joanne said, abruptly. Natalia frowned at her, startled to hear this. John was not surprised, really, especially given their current circumstances. As for Daniel, he quirked one brow, more curious than anything else.

"Is that wise?" He asked.

"We came here with a very specific purpose," Joanne stated, and her voice regained some of the confidence that had been there earlier. Her mind was set, and there would be no dissuading her, it seemed. "And we aren't leaving empty-handed. Why should we? We're right in the fortress, and we can't be too far off from where this hoard of technology is located. Why should we turn back now? What would be the point?"

"She's right," John added, causing everyone to look his way. "We're here, we should finish the mission."

"The SGC is expecting some kind of check-in," Natalia said.

"And they'll have to wait."

"We'd need to be right on top of the stargate for that," Valkas countered. "The Goa'uld have jammers about the fortress, our radios aren't going to work unless we're right by the stargate."

"And if we don't report in?" Natalia frowned, concern etched on her features. John thought about this, realising that a rescue team was the last thing that would be sent their way.

"They'll send a UAV through, most likely." Joanne was the one to say this. "A means to try and find us, even communicate. But that'll be the extent of it. If we don't come back, then the whole thing's off. They'll bury what's happened here and write us off as dead."

"Whatever happened to 'no man left behind'?" Natalia asked. Maybe for her people, they were more likely to treat their soldiers as expendable. And John knew that in some of the more clandestine branches of the US military, soldiers were treated more as 'assets' than actual people. Yet with the SGC, John had always known them to be willing to put it all on the line to rescue their own. That had been years before, of course. Now things were different, and the nature of this mission was unlike most. It did not seem so unlikely that they would be left here, written off and the whole affair covered up.

"They're not going to send a rescue team," John said simply. "We're going to have to make our own way back."

"Which is why we should turn back now." Natalia's voice grew a little harsher, more aggressive. She must have known that she was outspoken on the matter. Daniel, meanwhile, looked a little uncertain, and John figured that he was more conflicted on the matter.

"Colonel Sheppard is the ranking officer," Joanne said. "It's his decision."

"And I already made it," John added. "We're going to find that armoury and we're going to take something useful back with us. I'm sure Valkas here knows the way."

The Calsharan male nodded. He did not argue for either option, likely because he knew that his opinion did not mean much here. Maybe he was in favour of continuing with the mission? Maybe there was something in that technological treasure trove that he was most interested in? John knew to keep a careful eye on their otherwise helpful alien companion. One could never be too sure, and John was no stranger to being betrayed.

"They'll be on alert now," Valkas said. "We're going to have to be careful." He paused for a moment, aware that this statement was a little off-the-mark, given their current situation. "Should I say, _more_ careful than we've been so far?"

Natalia shook her head, disapproving of the plan of action. However, she was a soldier, and she would obey her orders, no matter how much she disagreed with them. Even if it meant walking straight into a situation that could lead to her death. It came with the work, and they all knew this. John perhaps more so than the others. Part of him was relieved to be the one in charge now, instead of tagging along as some kind of 'advisor'. Joanne had chosen him to come along, yet it occurred to him that at the end of the day, Bastion was always going to be the man in charge of this mission. That had been up until his untimely death, of course.

"Valkas, get that door open," John said. "Everyone, get ready." He raised his rifle, whilst Natalia and Joanne did the same, attention directed towards the door itself.

Valkas walked up to the control panel by the door. There, he reached for one of the crystals within, twisting it slightly. Slowly, the door began to slide open, revealing the corridor beyond. No one else was present, and John relaxed the grip on his weapon.

"All right everyone, stay close. Valkas, lead the way." The alien did as he was told, moving into the corridor slowly, before turning down the left-hand path. John followed close afterwards, the rest of the team behind him. Would the Goa'uld have other motion sensors? Surveillance cameras, even? John supposed that they would find out, one way or another. It was a somewhat morbid possibility, but he supposed that it should not have been so unlikely. If this was truly some secret fortress belonging to Ra, then it was no surprise that it had an extra layer of security not otherwise expected of a Goa'uld installation.

* * *

They made their way deeper into the fortress. A few times, they had to hide, whether it be in a store room of sorts or alcoves within the wall, as guards filed by in groups of two or three. Valkas seemed to know where he was going, even if John began to get the impression that they were headed for the very heart of the fortress. Maybe that was to be expected, as the 'armoury' was likely to be in the most secure part of the facility. Still, all this meant was that they were probably going to run into further trouble.

They made their way down a large, ornately-decorated hallway, with lavish statues spaced out at intervals along the walls and vast columns holding up the ceiling. There was plenty of cover here, and the group moved from section to section, headed for the double doors at the far end. Valkas seemed a little uncertain now, and John moved up alongside him as they stopped in the shadow of one of the large, ancient statues, one that was covered with metallic paints and glistening jewels.

"How much further?" John asked the alien, his voice low. Valkas pointed towards the double doors.

"That's the control room," he said. This surprised John, but at the same time he supposed it only made sense. "From there, we can access the armoury. We can even shut off the fortress's security, open doors and turn off the jammers."

"You're sure?" John had his doubts. The control room was going to be under heavy guard. Why would it not be?

"I'm sure. I've been here before, Colonel." Valkas looked to him, a knowing smirk forming at his mouth. "If we take the control room, it will make everything else a lot easier."

"What kind of resistance can we expect?" Joanne was crouched nearby, and she looked over at the alien as she asked this. "Because we start trouble in there, we're going to have everyone else in this fortress coming down on us."

"Not necessarily," Valkas replied. "Like I said, there is really only a token presence of warriors here. If we're quiet, we could take the control room and it could be a good half hour before anyone else checks in to see how things are going."

"How can you be so sure? Did you do this when you escaped?"

"No." Valkas spoke matter-of-factly. "I didn't need to. But since we're breaking _in_, rather than _out_, then taking the control room will greatly improve our odds. Especially now that it's apparent that there is additional security in place. If we trigger another motion sensor, we'll be in for a world of trouble. Besides, when I was imprisoned here, I learned the movements of the guards. I know how they operate here, Colonel, and they're unlikely to have changed since my escape."

There was a long pause then, as each of them considered their options. John had to admit, Valkas was right, again. They take the control room, even for a little while, and they could potentially control every aspect of the fortress. That included doors and security, and there was the potential there to lock out guards and trap them in other sections of the fortress. He looked to the others, trying to gauge their thinking. Joanne had her usually stern, level-headed expression on, and she met John's gaze. She was looking to him for the ultimate decision, given that he was the ranking officer.

"That settles it," John said, and he glanced past the statue and towards the double doors. "We're going in. Daniel, I want you and Valkas at the rear." He looked back at Daniel, who nodded in acknowledgement. "Natalia, stay on my left. Captain Bowers, you're on my right. We're going to want to do this fast." From his belt, he retrieved a concussion grenade. He had no idea the layout of the control room, but he hoped it was small enough for the grenade to have a good effect. Any edge they could get over their enemies was one they would need.

They made their way to the double doors, with John in the lead. There was a small panel by the doorway, and John gestured for Valkas to activate it. He got the message, approaching the panel cautiously. The doors were too thick and heavy to hear what may be happening on the other side, and for all they knew there could have been a small army waiting in the control room for them. John could only hope that there was not, otherwise this mission was about to get a whole lot worse.

Valkas pulled the top of the panel away and went to work on the crystals and advanced circuitry within. It took only a few manipulations for the doors to slide open. Control room it was, certainly, but it was also the throne room of Ra himself, at least if he had been present. John pulled the pin on the concussion grenade and threw it through the growing gap between the doors, before he backed away and turned his head.

There was a shout from the other side, in what he could only assume was the Goa'uld language. This was followed by a loud _bang_ as the grenade went off, a white flash filling the room. John settled his eyes down the sights of his gun as he went in first, faced with a wide-open expanse dotted with control terminals. The room was fairly large, the walls comprised of the bronze-coloured metal favoured by the Goa'uld, pink and purple curtains hanging across some sections. There was what he assumed to be a central control panel straight ahead, right before a ring transporter platform. And then, further beyond that, was the throne itself, flanked by bronze-metal statues and cauldrons of flame. Skylights were set into the ceiling above, casting natural light upon the throne and its immediate vicinity. Incense burned somewhere, and the sweet stench of it tingled John's nostrils as he stormed into the room.

There had been two guards by the door, and another standing by the central terminal. Both stumbled, affected by the blast of the concussion grenade. John did not hesitate to shoot the one in front of him, who was the immediate threat. They had been facing him, after all, and for now they were still a little disoriented. This one, he surmised, must have been the chief warrior, given the much-more elaborate Jackal-inspired helmet he wore, complete with gold trim. A burst from his rifle sent this warrior falling backwards, stumbling against the control panel before he fell to the floor, smearing blood in their wake.

Natalia and Joanne stormed in after him. Natalia shot down the guard on John's left, with Joanne planting a volley of submachine gun fire into the guard on the right. Daniel and Valkas followed them inside, before Valkas went for the control panel by the door on this side. Cracking it open, he turned one of the crystals within, causing the large double doors to slowly start to close.

John moved ahead, Natalia and Joanne on his flanks. Daniel went for the control panel, putting his pistol aside as he surveyed the controls. Fluent in Goa'uld, he had no problem determining exactly what controls did what, and straight away he began to work the buttons as he brought up a holographic map of the fortress. Valkas joined him at the panel, whilst John went on to check the rest of the throne room.

The ring transporter pad was no doubt intended for use with any ships that might have been in orbit above. It might have been useful, had they a ship of their own. John went up to the throne itself, noting a door tucked away some distance behind it, shrouded partially behind one of the curtains. Was this the way into the armoury? A little further to the left was a Goa'uld sarcophagus, one that was at this current moment wide-open. John thought that a little odd, and almost right away alarm bells sounded in his mind.

He heard footsteps then. They clacked loudly upon the tiled floor, and right away John turned to their source. Joanne was there, at least to begin with; as soon as he had turned to find the source of the steps, there was a flash or energy and an odd, rippling effect emerged from the shadows by the corner. Joanne was struck by it head-on, and she was lifted off of her feet and flung halfway back across the room.

John went to open fire at the figure that emerged from the shadows, managing a volley of rifle shots that flared off a yellow energy shield that lit up around the figure. In turn, he was hit by a burst from the figure's ribbon device, a wave of energy that was infused with a great heat. The force of it was enough to lift him from his feet and send him flying. He retained his grip on his rifle, for all the good it would do him, all while the wind was knocked out of him by what felt like a car colliding head-on with him. He landed a short way from where Joanne was slowly getting back onto her feet. And then the figure was upon Natalia, swatting aside her weapon as if it were nothing.

Daniel was there, gun raised. John, still a little shaken, rose to his knees and pointed his gun towards what was clearly the resident Goa'uld. Tall and slim, the woman was dressed in an elaborate red robe, gold chains and jewels hanging around her neck. Her dark hair was long and tied into a lengthy ponytail, and for a few seconds there her brown eyes glowed a bright yellow. She had Natalia in a headlock, the ribbon device on her left hand held threateningly over the woman's head.

"I can kill her in a heartbeat," the woman warned, her voice deep and alien. Daniel kept his gun trained on her, as did John. "Put down your weapons."

"Not a chance." John rose to his feet, rifle aimed squarely at the Goa'uld's head. Behind them, Valkas approached, and right away the female Goa'uld's expression changed. It went from a typically threatening, hostile gaze to something laced with amusement.

"Valkas," she said, smirking. "You came back. And I thought I would never see you again."

Valkas, unarmed, stopped by Daniel's right and scowled at the woman. John could see right away that there was history there.

"These people sort of dragged me here," Valkas replied, and he motioned with one hand to the humans before him. "Not my idea."

"Perhaps we could pick up where we left of?" The Goa'uld woman smiled. "I was so close to breaking you…"

"Not likely, Hesat," Valkas said. "I wouldn't mind _breaking_ you, but we haven't the time."

"Your weapons cannot harm me," Hesat stated, her voice confident. "Surrender. Now, or your friend dies." She tightened her grip around Natalia's neck, and John knew full well that the strength of a Goa'uld could break the woman's neck with ease. John considered their options, only for a thought to occur to him right then and there. A small fact he recalled from some long-ago briefing, and with one hand he slowly began to go for his combat knife.

"We're not surrendering anything, lady," Joanne said. This got her a glare from Hesat.

"Don't worry about her, Joanne," Valkas added. "She's small-fry in terms of Goa'uld. Little more than a glorified caretaker, too cowardly to venture off-world since she knows she'll be squashed right away like the bug she is." If this was intended to anger her, it worked exceptionally well.

Hesat threw Natalia aside and swept up her hand fitted with the ribbon device. She had it aimed for Valkas, and she seemed unconcerned with the likes of John, who had his gun trained on her. As she went to let fly with another burst of energy, John raised the combat knife he held in his left hand, lightly gripping it by the blade before he threw it. Although throwing a knife was not something he had done very often, the weapon was balanced enough for it to work as intended, and the blade shot through the air before embedding itself in Hesat's skull, just above the temple on her left side. Right away her movement faltered, seemingly swaying where she stood, her eyes emitting one final glow before she fell to one side and crumpled upon the tiled floor. Blood seeped from around the blade, and the woman's eyes stared vacantly ahead, devoid of life.

The energy barrier she had been carrying only reacted to high velocity projectiles. A knife thrown by hand did not travel fast enough to trigger it. John had remembered hearing this in a briefing some years ago, and at the time it had been fairly useless information to him. He had never run into a situation where he had needed to put the knowledge to use, at least until now. It seemed that all that time spent reading reports and listening to fairly dry briefings had finally paid off.

Relaxing the hold he had on his rifle, he rose to his feet and walked over to the dead Goa'uld. Squatting down, he yanked the bloodied blade from her skull, wiping it on her robe before he slipped it back into its sheath. He checked for a pulse at her neck, just to confirm that she really was dead. One could never be too sure with a Goa'uld.

Natalia rose to her feet nearby, breathing rapidly as she attempted to calm herself. She took up her rifle, eyes going to John, and then to Valkas. She seemed at a loss on what to say, or how to thank the pair.

"Was that some elaborate plan from you two?" She asked them. "Or just improvisation?"

John turned to her and gave her s light shrug of his shoulders.

"Valkas here knew her better than anyone," he replied, nodding in the direction of the Calsharan. "He knew how to push her buttons."

Valkas walked over to the dead Goa'uld, nudging her gently with one booted foot. The look in his eyes suggested there was a great deal of repressed anger there, and it was not hard to imagine the kind of things that Valkas had been forced to endure at the hands of this Goa'uld. Seeing her dead must have provided some amount of catharsis. Still, the way he stared down at her body and the look in his eyes, which went from angered to something else, suggested that there was much more to it than revenge. Perhaps he was simply sour at the fact that he had not delivered the killing blow?

"Guys?" Daniel called from the control terminal. He had rushed back over there, and he had started tapping at a number of keys upon the terminal, each one bearing some kind of Goa'uld symbol. John and the others made their way over, and Daniel motioned towards the floating holographic map of the fortress before them.

"What is it, Daniel?" John stopped alongside the archaeologist.

"Well, I've locked off the barracks," Daniel said. "So the guards in there aren't coming out anytime soon. I've also locked down this control room, so any guards who want in are going to need to force the doors. That'll buy us some time. There's something else I've found that I thought might interest you." He pressed a few more buttons, and the holographic map disappeared. Instead, a three-dimensional sphere appeared in its place, and it occurred to John that it was a representation of the planet itself. "This entire planet is shrouded in a network of satellites that make it invisible to most sensors. The only way someone would be able to see it was if they looked out the window of their ship and were close enough for it to be visible. Not likely, in the vastness of space. It looks like Ra pulled out all the stops to keep this place secret." Daniel shook his head slowly. "I've never seen anything like it before." His eyes went to Valkas, who stood nearby. "How did you get here, the first time?"

"The ship I used was fitted with a device that was able to penetrate the cloaking field," the alien replied.

"What about it, Daniel?" John asked.

"I can turn off the jammers stopping our radios from working," Daniel explained. "But doing so will shut off the cloaking field. The two things are tied together."

"Go ahead," John said. "It isn't going to make a difference to us."

"But think about it, Colonel." Daniel's voice grew a little more serious. "If there's some kind of horrible weapon stored here, and there could very well be, then wouldn't we want to keep it hidden?"

"Whatever's in that armoury, we'll bring it back with us. But we're going to need our radios working if we're going to get word back to the SGC." John had made his decision, and Daniel's concerns had been noted. This place was remote to begin with, Ra had simply gone the extra lengths to keep the place exceptionally well-hidden.

"All right," Daniel said. He began to enter in the commands necessary to shut-off the jammers, and as he did so, red lights began to blink across the three-dimensional hologram of the planet. Some kind of red warning message appeared, but Daniel simply shut-off the hologram, along with the warning beep that had begun to sound from the control terminal.

"We should find that armoury," John said. "Daniel, you go with Captain Bowers and Valkas. Find that armoury and work out what we should try and take back with us." He turned to Natalia. "Sergeant, we'll remain here and keep watch. Did you have those charges?"

Natalia nodded her head. Taking off her pack, she put it on the floor before her. From within, she retrieved three sets of plastic explosives, each one fitted with a digital timer. She handed all three to John, who in turn passed them to Joanne.

"Anything in that armoury too large and dangerous to take back, you destroy it," he said. "Just make sure you set the timers to something reasonable. As in, we should be able to get well clear before they go off."

Joanne nodded her head. Sticking two of the charges to her vest, she handed one to Daniel, who did the same. John was a little undecided as to what to make of Joanne's performance thus far, although he supposed she had done much to be expected of someone who had not actually been in a real fight before. Why they had given her this mission, he could not work out entirely. Nepotism, maybe, but even he thought that was being a bit harsh. Still, with a bit more experience, she might make a proper SG-team leader one day. For now, she seemed quiet, unusually so, and had seemingly left all the command decisions to him. That was understandable.

"Let's try and get back in half an hour," Sheppard said, glancing at his watch. "Hopefully, when the SGC tries to reach us, we can tell them what's happened and get some extra assistance." They were overdue for a check-in now, if the time showing on the watch was anything to go by. If the SGC had dialled the gate, then the jammers would ensure that their signals would not get far. He would have to keep trying, even if the walls in this place seemed to be doing a number on their radios, jammers or not. He had to get outside, but not until they had checked out the armoury.

"Get to the armory," he told the others. "Grab what you can and set the charges. Come straight back. Understood?"

"Understood, Colonel," Joanne replied. She motioned to Daniel and Valkas to move, with the alien putting himself ahead in order to lead them along. John watched them leave, the trio heading through the doors at the far end of the room. He glanced at the fallen Goa'uld, and then at the sarcophagus, well aware that once they were gone, some loyal servant of that Goa'uld would try and revive her. He turned to Natalia, nodding in the direction of the body.

"You reckon there's a trash compactor around here?"


	13. The Collection

**The Collection**

Ever since their arrival, Daniel had been noting down observations and taking photos of anything that stood out to him. Among these, he had noted that the general architecture of this place was not unlike the design of Ra's pyramid ship on Abydos, from all those years ago. The Supreme System Lord had favoured putting his own stamp upon things, instead of the generally uniform design of other Goa'uld installations that Daniel had explored since that first mission, and this place was no different. Much of it was directly inspired by ancient Egyptian design philosophy, and the symbol of the eye of Ra was displayed on statues and walls all about the fortress. Perhaps it was a symbolic indicator that Ra himself was watching the people here at all times, to tie in with the fact that to those people, he was a 'God'?

Yet, even though the place was similar in a lot of ways, there were still some notable differences. The fact that the entire planet was hidden, for one, was a definite indicator that all was not normal with this place. Why would Ra go to the trouble of hiding a whole world? They were in a remote corner of the galaxy already, far from any Goa'uld domains, former or otherwise. Were the items stored here simply that sensitive, that dangerous? If so, why would someone like Ra have simply hidden them away? Surely, he would have put them to use somehow?

Maybe he had, somewhere, in some distant part of the galaxy? Maybe he had been in the process of studying them before he had died? So many questions, and Daniel knew that answers would be in short supply. He moved after Valkas and Joanne, as they worked their way down a set of stairs hidden near the control centre. The stairwell was lit with flaming torches set upon the walls, the air musty and a thick layer of dust covered each step. The stairs ended at a set of metal double doors, and here Valkas stopped and immediately went for the control panel to their left. He seemed an expert on Goa'uld technology, and with little effort he had pried the front of the panel away from the wall, before he began fiddling with the glowing crystals inside. Joanne and Daniel waited for him to work his magic, and that he did, the doors opening a good half minute later.

So far, just about everything that could go wrong had gone wrong. Daniel was no stranger to missions going bad, although it had been some years since he had been on one that had gone quite like this. He was no adrenaline junkie, and if anything, he tried to avoid conflict. Yet so far, he had begun to feel a startling sense of nostalgia. It really was just like old times, if one could pardon the cliché, running through some Goa'uld facility whilst every guard on the premises tried hunting them down. All he needed now was the old team with him and he would be right at home. Right at home fighting for his life. Sometimes he felt that he was crazy, if he was truly enjoying this kind of thing.

The room beyond the doors was dimly lit, more akin to a dungeon than anything else. The air smelled of mildew, and somewhere nearby water dripped loudly from what Daniel assumed was a leaky pipe fitting. It was a fairly large room, with partitioned sections at the walls, and a large circular central area that was filled with benches, shelves and the like. All manner of items were scattered around, ranging from typical staff weapons to more elaborate devices that Daniel had never seen before. Certainly, some were Goa'uld in design, likely old and obsolete pieces of tech that had been stored down here and forgotten about.

Valkas found a light switch somewhere, and the room was suddenly illuminated with a yellow-tinged glow from fixtures set into the ceiling above. Daniel stopped in the middle of the various assortment of devices and weapons, unable to see anything that outright jumped out at him. None of it seemed to be of any real importance, and a sense of growing disappointment began to fall upon him. All of this trouble, for some forgotten Goa'uld technology that was well beneath what was in use now?

Valkas had walked over to one of the larger pieces, specifically a large, black metal pod that was covered in a thick layer of dust. A look of recognition appeared on his face then, and he remained staring at it for an extended moment. Daniel noticed this and walked up alongside him, noting that the pod itself appeared distinctly non-Goa'uld in design.

"What is it?" He asked Valkas. The alien turned to him, uncertainty on his face.

"I'm not sure," he answered. "I thought I recognized this, but I wouldn't know. Not for certain. My commanding officer might have, if he was here."

"Is this from your people?" Daniel recalled what Valkas had told him, about how something important to his race might have been here. Yet even Valkas did not seem so sure about this now. There was a control panel on the pod, inactive, the buttons labelled with symbols Daniel had never seen before. He peered closely at it, and with his camera he snapped a few quick photos. Something this large would be difficult to take back with them, even though he felt that it might be in their best interests to do so.

"Hey, Jackson!" It was Joanne, calling him from the other side of the room. Daniel spun around and walked over to her, and he saw right away that she had found something unusual amongst the otherwise Goa'uld armoury.

It was a small device, sleek and silver in design. A panel on the front carried a bunch of multi-coloured buttons, each one bearing a symbol that Daniel knew that he had seen before. The device itself was perhaps no larger than one's fist, and from the way Joanne was holding it, it presumably weighed next-to-nothing. While Valkas looked about the mysterious pod and what else was stored near it, Daniel found his attention drawn to the unusual device that Joanne had located.

"You look like you know what this is," Joanne said. She tried a few of the buttons on the device, but none seemed to work. Daniel held out his hand, and Joanne gave it to him, as curious as he was to determine its purpose. Daniel already had a good idea, and with that in mind the secrecy of this place began to make a great deal more sense.

"It's familiar," Daniel said. "But it's not working. The power source must have died." The question that nagged at his mind now was how Ra, of all people, had come upon such a device. Better yet, just how long had this been stored here, forgotten about and likely non-functioning for that entire time?

"What is it?" Valkas had walked over, gazes going for the device clasped in Daniel's hand. "It doesn't look like much."

"You'd be surprised." Daniel held it up to the light, as to perform a close examination. He had to be sure, and his memory of his last encounter with this kind of thing was hazy at best. It had been twenty years ago, likely more, since he had seen something of this design. "This is a Tollan phase-shifter. I've seen one before, and I've seen them in action. Something like this, if we could take it apart, find out how it works…" He trailed off. He recalled what had been said to him about such technology, from the very people who had made it. They had kept their technological secrets to themselves, with a strict policy against sharing any of it. Less-advanced races could destroy themselves with such technology, according to their concerns. And they had been right, to an extent. In the wrong hands, this kind of thing could be put to very destructive use. Daniel's last trip to the Tollan home-world had not ended well, and he had seen first-hand how technology such as this could be put to a destructive purpose.

"This can make solid matter pass through other solid matter," Daniel explained. "If this was working, I could use it to walk through walls."

"How can you be sure?" Joanne asked him.

"When I was with SG-1, we had a few encounters with the people who made this technology. They called themselves the 'Tollans'." Daniel lowered the device, contemplating what to do with it. Sure, it was obvious: they would take it back, their prize from this hoard of weapons and technology. Still, something about that did strike him as somewhat questionable, if only because of what the people who had made the device had told him, years ago. Even more so, he was disquieted by the fact that they had found it down here, in a place that Ra himself had had built.

"They were an advanced race of humans," Daniel continued. "Well beyond anything else we had encountered, with the exception of maybe the Asgard." The memories came rushing back now, and once again he could not help but feel some nostalgia as he recalled what seemed like a simpler time, despite the many dangers he had run into during those years. Not to mention the fact that he had died, more than once. "They were wiped out by the Goa'uld Anubis, who had been forcing them to design bombs fitted with this kind of technology. Weapons that could phase through solid matter."

"Like the iris on our stargate," Joanne added. She was right, of course. That was what Anubis had planned, among other things.

"Not only that," Daniel said. "But you could put one of these on a missile, and it could go right through the hull of a ship. Deactivate once it passed through and have it detonate inside. A vessel with weapons fitted with this kind of technology would be unstoppable." He was no expert (who was?) Weapons were not his speciality, but the application of this kind of technology was far-reaching. He turned to Joanne, his concern apparent on his face. This mission had gone from complicated to even more complicated.

"Is this the only one?" He asked her. Looking to the shelves, he could see nothing else that stood out to him. Joanne pushed aside some of the bits and pieces, and with some surprise unearthed another device of Tollan design, yet somewhat wider and flatter. Daniel thought that he had seen one of these before, a communications device, one capable of sending messages across vast distances almost instantaneously. However, there had to be more to it than that, and it occurred to him that he might very well have been looking upon a Tollan personal computer. Their version of a smart-phone, or a touch-screen pad. And, as he expected, it was not working. No wonder it had been left down here to gather dust. Whatever power source was inside these things had been defunct for some time, and Daniel could only wonder what could have caused this to occur.

"What is it?" Joanne asked. Daniel picked up the Tollan computer, as small as it was, and toyed with the multi-coloured buttons upon its display.

"Something similar to a notebook computer," he replied. "If we can get this back to Earth, we could try accessing it. Something tells me we'd need a nuclear reactor to switch it on, but I'd say it could be worth it."

"Why would the Goa'uld leave these things down here?" Joanne was sceptical, and Daniel had to admit, so was he. Sure, the devices were defunct, but the Goa'uld would surely have been capable of reactivating them, even for a short while?

"Maybe they were forgotten about?" Valkas suggested, even though it was apparent that he did not believe this himself.

"Maybe Ra died before he could follow up with his research on them," Daniel said. A much more likely possibility. These items could have been left here, put aside for further study at a later date. Ra could have made his fateful trip to Abydos in the meantime, keeping the existence of such technology to himself, as one would expect. And after that, well, the rest was clear.

"Did you know anything about these?" Joanne turned to Valkas, who gave a light shrug in response. Still, Daniel thought that he detected something a little less honest in the alien's movements, particularly in his eyes.

"No, but I suspect my commanding officer had some idea." Valkas' tone was level, as straight as he could be. Nothing to suspect there, even if Daniel did not entirely believe him.

Joanne took off the small pack she wore and opened it.

"Put them in," she told Daniel. "We're taking them back with us."

Daniel did as she said, stuffing them into her pack. He looked about the armoury, and it was apparent that there was still a fair amount of things here to sift through. Of course, they had likely struck the jackpot already, but it would be a waste not to be thorough.

"We should keep searching," Daniel stated. He could only wonder how such devices had come to be in the possession of the Goa'uld. Had they been here for long? Had they been found before, or after, the Tollan people had been wiped out? These were questions that he knew he was unlikely to get an answer for.

"Let's make it quick," Joanne said. She slung the pack back on. "I'd say we've just about outstayed our welcome here."

* * *

John was no expert on the Goa'uld language. That had never been his field, and since most of his work with the stargate program had been in another galaxy entirely, he had seldom encountered the Goa'uld or their Jaffa goons in any capacity whatsoever. As such, looking at the central control terminal now, he could make little sense of the symbols on the keys, or the information that scrolled down the holographic display floating before him. It still showed a three-dimensional representation of the planet itself, except now a cluster of red dots had appeared near it. Something started beeping loudly, and John saw a blinking red light on the panel before him.

"Hey, Sergeant," John said, getting Natalia's attention. She walked over, and he put a finger to the blinking red light. "Doesn't a blinking red light mean we're about to die?"

"The sensors are detecting something," she said, looking upon the panel. She might have been better versed with Goa'uld technology than he was, although even he could work out that yes, something had been detected and all manner of warnings were sounding. Behind them, the sound of voices suddenly sounded from behind the control centre doors. They were muffled, speaking in the language of the Goa'uld. Both soldiers spun around, weapons ready, expecting the doors to slide open. Yet that did not happen, and instead they heard a few thumps as those on the other side presumably knocked to get the attention of the usual control centre staff. Unfortunately for them, the usual staff were indisposed, their bodies left where they had fallen.

"They're going to force the doors," John said. "We don't have a lot of time."

"What about those?" Natalia had turned around, eyes going to the holographic display. She pointed a finger to the cluster of red dots nearing the planet's surface. "I'd say we don't have much time before whatever they are get right on top of us."

"You know any Goa'uld?" John asked her, turning around to face her.

"A little." Natalia tapped at some of the buttons, trying to adjust the display as to better show them what was going on. "Something about unidentified ships, about three of them. Give me a moment…" She trailed off, concentration falling upon the controls. John glanced back at the control centre entrance, and he heard a further few thumps against the large metal doors, as those on the other side tried to break in. They would give up soon enough, and likely make an attempt with the control panel if they had not already. Or they would find some other way in, one that John was not aware of. He looked about the large control room, unable to discern any other apparent way inside other than the main doors. The other set, beyond the throne room, presumably went for the armoury and little else. Still, it was something to keep an eye on.

"They're headed straight for us," Natalia said suddenly. There was a tension in her voice, when faced with this new unknown. Were they Goa'uld ships? Vessels belonging to some rival to Ra? Natalia seemed to be working the controls again, trying to find out more as to the unexpected visitors.

"Deactivating the jammers might have been a mistake," Natalia added. "Because we've obviously drawn attention to ourselves."

"They could have been searching for this place before we switched them off," John said. This was all speculation, naturally. Whoever the newcomers were, they were likely bad news. "We need to get out of here." The others were yet to return from the armoury. Hopefully, they were not too much longer. John did not fancy waiting around, with Ra's warriors at the doors and unknown visitors descending upon the fortress.

The holographic display changed then, from a representation of the planet to a computer-generated image of one of the alien ships. The image itself was comprised mostly of blue lines of light, with little real detail upon it, yet even from this the shape it displayed was definitely not Goa'uld. Sleekly designed, with a rounded form to it, the ship resembled nothing that John was familiar with. It was oval-shaped, almost simplistic in design, with a set of two large engines were at its rear. Information written in the Goa'uld language scrolled off of the image as the sensors picked up on every detail they could get. What the hull was comprised of, the speed the ship was travelling, the kind of energy it was giving off; everything and anything relevant that the sensors could detect was being displayed, and John could barely make sense of any of it. Natalia seemed to get the gist, judging from the way she was taking in the information, her face gradually scrunching into something that was both confused and concerned.

"What is it?" John asked her.

"That's no Goa'uld ship." Stating the obvious never really helped anyone, even if it was understandable at this point. Neither of them had been expecting any visitors, yet these mysterious aliens were headed right for their location. "It says it's about fifty metres long, so not a capital ship. There's a bunch of them. According to this, they'll be on us in minutes. We should get the others, Colonel. Get out of here and blow the armoury."

"Good plan." John watched the hologram of the alien vessel a little longer, trying to think of where he had seen it before. The problem there was that he had _never_ seen a ship of that configuration before, and this worried him far more than anything familiar might have. Good or bad, they had something unknown headed for them, and that was in its own way truly terrifying.

* * *

Joanne set one of the charges in the middle of the room. Daniel placed another at the far end of the armoury, before Joanne moved to one of the pillars at the opposite end and set the third and final charge upon it. Daniel had to admit, he would be sorry to destroy this place, even if it was for the best. There were things in here he could have spent a great deal of time studying. That included some of the items that otherwise looked unassuming. How much history had Ra collected here? How many peoples and cultures had been plundered to fill this armoury?

There was treasure here, that was clear. That included the first kind of 'treasure' that came to mind when someone mentioned the word, as gold was in good supply here. Coins, statues, goblets, chalices; there was a definite treasure trove here, yet Daniel was not one to try and stuff his pockets full of these items. Valkas was eyeing up some jewel-encrusted necklaces on one shelf, and even now he had picked one up, looking upon it with the gaze of a man intent on getting a slice of that wealth.

"Do we have to blow up the whole lot?" He asked. He turned to Joanne, who had just finished setting the final charge. "Seems like a waste."

"Anything you take back will be confiscated," Joanne replied, speaking matter-of-factly. "So, I wouldn't even bother."

Valkas let out a disappointed grunt, as he set the necklace back upon the shelf.

"This 'Ra' had exquisite tastes, didn't he?"

"All Goa'uld do," Joanne said. "That's the common denominator when it comes to those snakeheads. Exquisite tastes and an inflated sense of self-importance."

Daniel managed another look at the large pod that Valkas had been interested in, well aware that it was not of any Goa'uld design. There was something about it that intrigued him, and had they been able to he would have brought it back to Earth. Yet they had not the means to do so, and whatever it was would remain unknown now, especially since it was going to be reduced to a smouldering wreck in several minutes time. Valkas walked up alongside Daniel, following his gaze to the pod.

"I think that was it," the alien said, his voice low. "What I was sent here to retrieve."

"What is it?" Daniel asked him, turning his head. Their eyes met, and Valkas managed an almost mischievous smile.

"I have no idea."

Before anything more could be said, Joanne called to them. She was partway to the exit already, and the timers on each of the explosives had begun to tick down.

"Come on," she announced. "We've got five minutes before those things blow."

There was no use dawdling any longer. Daniel and Valkas followed after Joanne, passing through the exit and starting up the stairs outside. They had at least found something they were able to take back, yet Daniel could only wonder if it had been worth the trouble. An entire team dead, for a couple of non-functional Tollan devices? Was that really worth it?

They made their way back up to the control room. As they neared, it became apparent that John and Natalia were faced with problems of their own. Not only were there the tell-tale sounds of aggravated voices coming from behind the double doors, but a red warning light was flashing at the main control terminal. Daniel walked over to it, curious, and Natalia brought his attention to the holographic display.

"Unknown ships," she said. "Three of them, and they're about to get right on top of us."

"Unknown?" Joanne stepped forwards, eyes going to the display. According to the sensors, there were indeed three alien vessels descending upon them, none of which were of a recognizable design. John looked to her, and he cocked one eyebrow.

"Did you find anything down there?" He asked her.

"Just a device that lets you walk through walls," she replied. "Naturally, it doesn't work. But it's worth taking back."

John nodded his head. He did not ask for further details, if only because they did not have the time for a lengthy discussion. Instead, his attention went to Valkas, who stood nearby with his usually laidback exterior. Despite the mounting sense of chaos, he seemed remarkably calm.

"Is there another way out of here?" He asked him.

"There should be." He approached the control terminal then, and Natalia stepped aside to allow him access to the controls. "This place has all kinds of secret tunnels. I know there's one running under here, I'm just not sure how to access it from this room…" He trailed off, as he set his full concentration upon the terminal. Tapping at keys and shifting the holographic display back to the map of the fortress, he worked quickly, trying to unearth whatever forgotten and long-buried command opened-up the nearest hidden passage. Behind them, the door slid open slightly, as whoever was on the other side forced it. The gap between the two doors was large enough for one of the warriors on the other side to aim their staff weapon through, and before any of the group could react a blast lanced forth, zipping by the control terminal, missing Valkas by mere inches. The alien ducked on impulse, and at that moment he seemed to have found what he was looking for, as part of the floor nearby slid open, a hidden trapdoor revealing itself and the set of steps beneath it. Right away, the group made a run for it. Shouts could be heard from outside the control room, followed by further weapons fire.

What Joanne noticed was that the weapons fire was not directed to them. Rather, it sounded as if there was someone outside the control room with the warriors that had got their attention. Staff weapons fired, and amongst the thunderous roars of those weapons were the distant noises of something else, more metallic sounding. Another type of weapon, firing with as much frequency as the staff weapons. Thumps and cracks followed as shots hit the doors and the nearby walls, and Joanne heard the unmistakable sound of bodies hitting the floor. Whoever they had been shooting at, it stood to reason that they had come from the ships which had descended upon the fortress.

John lead the group down the stairs, and as Joanne took up the rear, she heard the whirr of the ring transporter as it activated. The ceiling above the platform opened up, and a set of five concentric rings, similar in appearance to the stargate but much smaller, descended from the newly-revealed opening in the ceiling. They stopped and hovered over the platform, and within them appeared a flash of white energy as the travellers riding the transporter were materialised. Joanne caught a glimpse of those who had just transported in, although she did not recognize the deep red, almost maroon, figures. One thing was for certain: they were definitely_ not_ human.


	14. Barred From Entry

**Barred from Entry**

Valkas seemed to have a good idea of where he was headed. Of course, he could very well have been leading them in circles and they would have followed him, if only because he was the only person here with even a passing knowledge of the fortress' layout. The team moved quickly through what was, by all appearances, a maintenance tunnel. Mostly bare concrete, with water pipes running along the walls and ceiling, the air within smelled dank and the humidity was thick in some parts, less so in others. Now the team moved with renewed speed, as it had become apparent to all of them that the fortress was under attack from some unknown force.

"Is there anyone following us?" Natalia asked, as they moved rapidly down the tunnel. Joanne managed another look behind them and saw nothing in their immediate wake. Nor did she hear any footsteps or voices other than their own. For now, they appeared to be alone, which worked for Joanne just fine.

"Not right now," Joanne replied. Despite the walls between them and the outside, some of the sounds of a distant battle still managed to work their way into the tunnel. Maybe it was simply the acoustics of the fortress above, the way sound reverberated off of the metal corridors and echoed across the large open rooms that comprised so much of the fortress. Every so often, the recognizable blast of a staff weapon would be heard, faint but audible; even a shout, the kind of frantic ones made in the heat of combat, would occasionally echo down into the tunnel. There was a fight going on above them, and it sounded as if the whole fortress had come under attack.

"Is this going to take us close to the stargate?" John asked Valkas, keeping up with the alien's pace. If anything, John was the only one who seemed able to match the alien's speed, despite being the oldest person here. Joanne wondered how fit she would be, once she got to middle-age.

"Close, I suspect," Valkas replied. "But we may have to cross the open on the outside. I fancy that may not be easy."

"You fancy?" John nodded his head. "Oh, I _know_ it won't be easy. I don't know who's up there now, but they aren't friendly."

"No, they're certainly not." Valkas' voice was lower here, as he spoke more to himself than to anyone else. Still, there was something in his voice that caught Joanne's attention, and she moved alongside him, keeping pace as best she could.

"Do you know who they are?" Ahead, the tunnel came to a T-junction. Valkas took the right-hand path without hesitation. Whether he truly knew where he was going was difficult to determine, but he had so far lead them the right way. Save for an ambush that none of them could have anticipated, the Calsharan had otherwise done right by the team since they had got here. With that in mind, Joanne knew full well that he had little other choice but to show them the right way. If he led them into trouble, he would be in as much danger as the rest of them.

Valkas did not reply. Instead, they came upon a large gate of sorts, and through it some kind of outdoor courtyard. They were still within the fortress, but seeing the sunlight after so much time spent underground or simply indoors was a welcome sign. They had to be close to the outlying sections of the fortress anyway, so they had definitely made some progress.

Valkas tried the handle on the old, rusted gate. It was locked, unsurprisingly, but this did not deter him. Rather, he simply took a few steps back and threw himself against the gate, shoulder-first and with as much weight and force behind him as he could muster. The old, rusted hinges gave way upon his impact, and the gate fell forwards off of its fittings and landed in the shallow pond ahead with a _splash_. The courtyard outside was fairly large, with statues and pillars by the surrounding walls, and a central gazebo constructed out of stone that was covered in the likes of moss and creeping vines. The tunnel had taken them onto the rocks by a small pond at one corner of the courtyard, a pond covered with thick green algae, lily pads and other general weeds. Whatever fish had inhabited it were long since dead.

John moved past Valkas, heading outside first. He had his rifle at the ready, and his eyes carefully scanned their surroundings as he stepped out into the courtyard. Above, the sun was up high, as midday neared. The heat was one thing Joanne noticed right away, along with the warm breeze that wafted into the courtyard. It had not been so bad inside, with whatever climate control systems the Goa'uld had at their disposal. Out here, there was nothing of the sort to ward off the unrelenting heat of the sun.

"Spread out," John ordered. The team did as instructed, with Valkas remaining behind, unarmed as he still was. He kept low as John and Joanne approached the centre of the courtyard. It was a strangely tranquil setting, complete with potted plants hanging from the surrounding walls and archways. Most of the plants were wilted, brown and pretty much dead; with a bit of care, this place would have made for a pleasant spot to relax. It was almost sad to see it in the hands of the Goa'uld.

"Which way, Valkas?" John asked, turning around to face the alien. He had stopped nearby, crouching by a stone planter box that was full of wilted, dead ferns. Valkas looked about the courtyard, uncertainty in his eyes. He had never been in this section of the fortress before, that much was apparent. He pointed towards a wooden door at the other side of the courtyard, before he nodded up to a short guard-tower like structure atop one of the surrounding buildings.

"I recognize that tower," he said. "So the exit should be south of it." He pointed southwards. "That'll put us on the path to the stargate. We're not far from it now."

John signalled for the team to follow, as he approached the door. Trying the handle, it was unlocked, and he pulled it open to reveal the narrow hallway on the other side. Joanne heard another door open somewhere behind them, and she turned around to catch sight of the two warriors who had barged into the courtyard at the opposite side. Both had been on the move, running quickly as if intent on getting somewhere else quickly, so they practically stopped in their tracks when they saw the group of humans and their one alien companion in the courtyard.

"At our six!" Joanne shouted, and she went for cover behind the gazebo as the two warriors charged into the open. John and the others turned to meet them, with a staff weapon blast flying by Joanne before it hit the wall behind them. Part of the wall exploded in a hail of chunks and eruption of smoke, before Joanne fired a volley into the warrior who had taken the shot. He went down with about half a dozen holes shot through his torso, bloody spurts following each hit. The other one crouched down and took careful aim with his staff weapon, sending another blast of energy in the team's direction. This one struck one pillar of the gazebo, almost shearing the narrow stone column in half. Joanne had to turn her head away, as fragments of stone rained upon her and almost hit her in the eyes.

John, Natalia and Daniel all opened fire, laying it down upon the single warrior who, despite his armour, stood little chance against all three guns. He twitched and convulsed as bullets tore through him, and he fell backwards into the murky pond by the far wall. Blood swirled into the water around the body, clouding it red.

"Come on," John said, as soon as the enemy was down. He turned around and made his way into the open hallway, with the others quickly following. The corridor ran on for some way, and as they traversed it, the sounds of battle became more apparent. Weapons fire, shouts and even the distant thumps of explosions could be discerned, and they only grew in volume the further the team moved on ahead.

Now it was apparent they were nearing the front of the fortress, and in turn the vast open plaza before the stargate. Rounding a corner, they stepped through an archway and out onto the wide, front porch of the fortress. Still in shelter behind the pillars that lined its length and the roof above them, they were nonetheless treated to a view of the parade ground ahead of them. One of the unknown alien ships had landed here, and it was the first time any of them got a good look at it.

It was perhaps roughly the same size as a cargo plane, or a Goa'uld alkesh bomber. The general shape was somewhat ovoid, similar to one of those Goa'uld bombers, but with a set of thin wings running from its side. However, those were about the point where the similarities to any Earth or Goa'uld ship ended, as this particular craft was not constructed from any typical metal. Certainly not steel, or aluminium or trinium or anything that was immediately recognizable; rather, the outside of the ship appeared to be built from some kind of deep-reddish-purple material that, at a glance, appeared more like the shell one would find on a crustacean, such as a lobster, than on the outside of a spacecraft. There were imperfections visible, indentations and scuff marks that appeared within the membranous surface of the material, the kind of natural imperfections one would again find on crustacean creatures. The whole vessel appeared constructed of this, and Joanne thought that it was perhaps organic, the kind of ship not built but _grown_. She was no expert, of course, and such an idea was more science-fiction than science-fact, but here she was on an alien planet carrying alien technology, so she supposed that anything was possible.

"What the hell is that?" John asked aloud. The open ground before them was littered with stone rubble, with a few partially destroyed statues spaced out across its width. Regardless, they still had a good run to the stargate, crossing what was often known as a 'killzone'. Open, with little cover and long sight lines on multiple sides.

Fires were raging from the town ahead. Even from here, they could see some of the local inhabitants on the run. Tanned humanoids, mostly dressed in slim white and grey rags, they may very well have been under the thrall of Ra, but at the end of the day they were human. Innocent civilians, really, and yet they were receiving the brunt of this alien attack. Some of the buildings had had sizeable holes blasted through them, and bodies littered the bridges and narrow streets. Weapons fire could be heard, almost constant, sounding out from all around them as the alien invaders massacred the civilians and engaged Ra's loyal warriors in the fortress behind them.

"We're got to make a run for the gate," John said. Even he did not sound keen on the idea. "Smoke grenades?" As he said this, he pulled one from his belt, his only one. Joanne had none, whereas Natalia carried two with her, which was a plus. She handed them to John, who weighed them in his grip absently, all while his eyes surveyed what lay ahead and he pieced together a haphazard plan of approach. There were no hostiles immediately visible, but that seemed likely to change, and quickly.

"We'll get surrounded," Daniel said. He was right, of course. Still, they did not have a lot of options.

"Not if we get through the gate," John replied. "Stick to the smoke and keep moving forwards. Don't get turned around."

The sun above was bright, the sky without a single cloud. Already, Joanne could feel sweat building under her uniform and along her brow. She checked her submachine gun, loading a fresh magazine into it. Daniel adjusted his boonie hat, while Valkas looked about the surrounding grounds, no doubt searching for nearby enemies. John took a few steps forwards, taking him onto the wide front steps of the fortress itself. Pulling the pin on one smoke grenade, he threw it ahead, sending it sailing down over the steps before it bounced onto some of the collected masonry rubble scattered partway across the open plaza. White smoke billowed from the grenade, quickly creating a thick, sizeable cloud that was all but impossible to see through.

Straight away, the team started to move forward. They crossed into the smoke cloud, with John readying another grenade that he sent sailing through the cloud ahead of them. As they passed through the cloud, it became apparent that they were not alone in the plaza. Guttural shouts could be heard, speaking in a tongue that none of them could understand. Joanne squinted against the smoke, coughing as it irritated her throat. Something shot through the smoke near her, some kind of bright, white bolt of energy. She could almost feel it sizzling through the air, and it was followed by several more that came zipping for the team from across the plaza. Yet, despite the incoming fire, she could still not see who was shooting at them. Shrouded in smoke, the unseen hostiles fired into the growing clouds in an effort to prevent the group's escape.

They emerged from the cloud near the stargate, after John had thrown the last of the smoke grenades. Racing for the DHD, the Colonel began to punch in the address for Earth. Behind them, the smoke began to fade, and Joanne caught her first glimpse of the previously unseen assailants. Deep red, almost purple in colour, the aliens she could make out were rushing for the group's position. They were bipedal, but the similarities to humans pretty much ended there. They carried sleek-looking rifles of some kind, each one sending forth a sharp bolt of white energy, the bolts smaller than those of the staff weapons but carrying with it what felt like far more power. There was a good dozen of these aliens, rushing in from all directions. Some were taking cover amongst the rubble and the nearby statues, whilst Joanne and the others had little else but the DHD and the platform the stargate was situated upon to use as cover. Far from an ideal situation, and the group was on the verge of becoming surrounded.

John was quick to punch in the stargate address. The chevrons upon the giant ring lit up rapidly, the inner circle spinning gradually. More of the aliens moved in, and energy bolts zoomed by the team members. They opened fire at the approaching aliens, sending them into cover, keeping them suppressed while the chevrons lit up. Joanne let fly at one of the approaching aliens with her submachine gun, the weapon shaking in her grasp. The alien stumbled, before scrambling behind what remained of a fallen stone statue, bullets tearing pieces out of the obstacle.

Finally, after what felt like an interminably long time, the wormhole activated, sending forth the rush of the unstable vortex before it swept back into itself and calmed into the familiar water-like pool within the large ring. Straight away, John had pulled out his identification device, and with a rapid set of button presses he sent the ID code through to Stargate Command. The iris would be closed, and without that code it would not be opened. All he needed now was the go-ahead, little more than a green light that would activate on the small device. Yet it did not come, not right away.

They were surrounded now. Valkas was crouched near the platform, head down as more of the energy bolts swept by. Joanne and Natalia returned fire, and under this combined hail of bullets, one of the aliens was sent falling, purple blood spurting off of its torso as rounds shredded through its exoskeleton. These aliens were nothing Joanne had seen before, and it was apparent that Natalia and John were unfamiliar with them also. However, a glance at Daniel and the worried but determined look on his face suggested some kind of familiarity. Joanne had no opportunity to question him about it, not when they were in a situation such as this. Her ears were full of the noise of weapons fire and little else, yet over it she could hear John's increasingly aggravated tones.

"Come on…" John crouched behind the DHD, as an energy bolt glanced off of its side, leaving a black scorch mark in its wake. He brought out his radio, patching through to Stargate Command. Even with the iris closed, radio signals could still get through.

"This is Colonel Sheppard," John spoke into his radio, his voice growing increasingly frustrated. One of the energy bolts struck the ground near Joanne, sending up a small explosion of dust and shards of stone. "Requesting passage through the iris! We're under fire from unknown hostiles! Condition critical!"

* * *

On Earth, within the control room of Stargate Command, General Janssen found himself faced with an unexpected and very concerning situation. His finger on the transmit button, his eyes fixed on the stargate through the windows ahead, he had become increasingly aware of the men behind him, two of which had guns drawn. McClintock stood between them, a stern but still oddly smug look on his face.

"Don't open that iris," McClintock ordered. It was unusual, having the bureaucrat boss him around, and Janssen felt tempted to simply disobey and hit the command to open the iris. Through the radio, he could hear the shouts and the sounds of weapons fire as Sheppard and his team met heavy resistance.

"Our people are in trouble," Janssen said, gritting his teeth. He had to do everything in his power to keep his anger from boiling over.

"We can't risk them bringing that trouble here," McClintock stated. He had two black-uniformed soldier types with him, each one training their guns on the General. At the door, two of the airmen standing guard had their hands on their holstered guns, yet they did not draw them. Instead, they watched the situation here before them carefully, uncertain as to how they should respond. Starting a gunfight in the control room hardly seemed sensible, so far now they waited for the General's order.

"We sent them out there…"

"_You_ sent them out there." McClintock took a step forwards, and Janssen finally turned around to look at him. All the while, he kept the channel open. Every word said here would be transmitted through to Colonel Sheppard. At least that way, the Colonel would know what was going on.

"This mission was not fully authorised by the IOA," McClintock added. "And I've received authorisation to cancel it, through whatever means necessary. The board has declared the risk too great, and judging from the resistance your team has met, bringing that trouble to Earth in whatever form could put us all at risk. The mission is aborted and you are relieved of your authority here."

"You son of a bitch." Janssen spoke through a clenched jaw, his anger hitting its peak. Still, he reined it in, if only to avoid making a volatile situation even worse. "This is what you've been waiting for, all this time."

"Shut down the gate." McClintock directed this command to the technicians seated at the controls. They hesitated, both of them looking to the General. McClintock's expression soured, and he stepped forwards. _"Shut it down!"_

With some noticeable reluctance, the technicians complied. The stargate deactivated, the wormhole dissipating and the iris over it sliding open. The channel to Colonel Sheppard was cut off, as was any help the team might have required.

"We don't leave people behind," Janssen stated, meeting McClintock's eyes with his own. He hoped even an ounce of the anger he felt was visible within them.

"Expendable assets." McClintock did not care at all that they had essentially left of a bunch of their own people to die. If anything, the IOA had picked the worst time imaginable to take over completely.

"The President will hear about this." Janssen started for the exit. The threat felt empty, even to him.

"The President will be on my side," McClintock countered. What worried the General the most was that he was, in fact, most likely correct.

* * *

John had heard every word of the exchange through the radio, and with a growing sense of unease. Now hardly seemed the time for some kind of political upheaval back home, but he supposed that it was the kind of luck he should have been used to by now. The others were unlikely to have heard it, and he was not sure how he could break the news without inciting even a slight panic. The deal was sealed when the stargate shut off, and the team was left in the open with hostile aliens encroaching on their position.

"What the hell is going on?" Joanne exclaimed. She hauled off her pack, sweat running down her brow, as she emptied whatever was left in her submachine gun towards the enemy. Another of the aliens was cut down, splattering purple blood on the statue next to it. Valkas was crouched by the stargate platform, eyes darting about in an effort to find some kind of means to defend himself. The hammer on Daniel's pistol struck an empty chamber, and he went to reload, only to find that he was fresh out of magazines.

There were more of the aliens now, all around them, and there was simply not enough ammunition left on the team to make a dent in those numbers. Three of them appeared straight ahead, and John watched with some surprise as an energy bolt struck Joanne in the side. Something was different here, John realised; instead of blowing a hole through her, there was a simple flash, a scattering of electrical discharge over her form, and she slumped over. Daniel was by her side quickly, hand going to her neck to check her pulse.

John checked his own ammunition reserves. One magazine left, which was so far only half-full. Not much to play with, so he would have to make every shot count. Taking aim past the DHD, he planted a bullet in the chest of one of the approaching aliens, dark purple blood spraying forth as the alien collapsed onto the ground. He became aware of more of them coming from the left, and he let fly with another volley that put one of them down and caused the others to scatter.

They were, nonetheless, completely screwed. Low on ammunition and outnumbered, John could see that the situation was one that they were unlikely to get out of. Yet, with Joanne unconscious, it occurred to him that maybe these aliens wanted them alive. Still, John was not about to put himself in the hands of some freaky aliens he had never seen before.

Valkas emerged from cover then, snatching up Joanne's pack. He locked eyes with John, and the alien's mouth curled slightly, as if giving the man a shrug. The pack contained whatever had been found in the armoury, and before John could react, the alien had darted off with the pack over one shoulder. Jumping a short wall behind the stargate some ways, he disappeared behind it, splashing into the stream below. John considered following him, even if the alien was deserting them. However, this was stopped by what came next.

Something small and round came flying through the air, sailing past his head before landing near the stargate platform. Looking to it, he saw a small metal sphere with a red light on it, and he immediately concluded that it was one thing he should get well away from. Throwing himself to the ground, there was a bright flash and a crackle of energy, and he felt a rush of heat as the energy-based charged detonated. Pieces of stone and a shower of dirt fell around him, blistering white-blue flames erupting from the site of the explosion. Daniel had dragged Joanne behind the stargate platform, so they had been clear of the explosion, thankfully.

John slowly rose to his feet in the wake of the explosion, he found that about four of the aliens were right on their position now, weapons drawn.

He looked to them, and then to the rifle in his hands. Seeing them up close, their unusual appearances struck a chord of uncertainty within him. Unlike anything he had seen before, he had sudden doubts that letting them take him alive would be a better alternative. Nonetheless, it appeared that he had no choice. At a glance, one might have suspected that these aliens were wearing some kind of biomechanical vest, but it was hard to tell. Was it part of them, or simply an extension of their own bodies?

Nearby, Natalia had pulled out her pistol. She fired a shot at one of the aliens, the bullet grazing its arm. Another of them, a somewhat larger one with a darker, more-purple exoskeleton, lunged forwards and swatted her aside. Natalia fell to the ground, the gun falling from her grip, blood trickling from a cut in her mouth. The alien's greater strength was readily apparent.

Daniel slowly held up his hands in surrender, reluctantly, and John dropped his rifle. The smell of ozone lingered in the air, a smoky haze having fallen across the group from the grenade's detonation. The larger of the aliens stepped over to the gun Natalia had dropped. It picked it up, seemingly weighing it in its hands, before it turned it over a few times and performed a careful examination. Natalia was still on the ground, and with one hand she wiped the blood from her mouth, face scrunched into an angered and pained scowl. Without warning, the alien pointed the pistol to her, its aim a little low, and fired a shot into her leg. The bullet shattered her left knee-cap and Natalia screamed, blood splattering onto the pavement under her.

John rushed to her side, her face drenched in sweat and her body shaking. One hand went for his collar, and she grabbed hold of it, before her other one found its way to his own left hand. Something was clenched in it, and John realised that it was the old trench knife. Her lucky knife, having once belonged to her grandfather, from his time in the Russian Army. She put the small blade into John's grasp, and he quickly slipped it into his boot, unnoticed by any of their enemies. Before he could tend to her wound, the burly alien had grabbed him from behind, hauling him onto his feet with startling strength.

He found himself gazing upon a distinctly alien face, with a narrow vertical mouth flanked by two small mandibles, and a wide black slit where eyes should have been. It was about all the look he could get, before the alien backhanded him harshly across the face and sent him into a daze. Before he knew it, he was being dragged along by two of the creatures, with little else to look at but the blue sky above.


	15. Old Friends

**Old Friends**

"You know who we are, don't you?"

The voice sounded synthesized, as if it was a computer speaking to him. One of those text-to-voice programs one could use, although this one sounded somewhat more refined and lacked the abrupt pauses and awkward enunciations of such a thing. Even so, it was still distinctly 'fake'. How Daniel knew this, he could not be certain.

He had been knocked unconscious at some point, he did not know when exactly. He had been at the stargate, surrounded by strangely familiar aliens, before he had suddenly woken up here. And 'here', in this case, was a dungeon in some part of the fortress. It was obviously a dungeon, if the lack of light and overall rank atmosphere was anything to go by. As were the cell bars ahead of him, which opened onto a narrow stone corridor that was lit only by a few burning torches. Lying on the floor nearby was Natalia, who was breathing rapidly, left leg splayed out before her as it bled profusely. A glance her way made it apparent that she was in dire need of attention, and Daniel moved up alongside her in an effort to assist her. All the while, the humanoid figure in the shadows outside the cell continued to watch.

Her left knee-cap was a bloody mess. At some point, she had stuck a bandage around it, but this had done little to actually help her. Natalia, who had come across determined and strong, was now shaking like a leaf and sweating worse than even Daniel had been in the heat outside. Even if he could somehow patch her up, she was unlikely to ever walk properly again.

"I don't know who _you_ are." Daniel looked to the figure in the shadows, before he realised that Joanne was lying sprawled on the floor nearby. He went to her next, shaking her gently in an effort to rouse her. It seemed to work, as the woman slowly opened her eyes and sat up.

"Jackson?" She asked. She looked about the cell, to Natalia and then to the alien standing outside, and her expression soured almost immediately. "What the hell is going on?"

Daniel was not entirely sure himself. They had been denied access to the SGC, and in turn had been surrounded and taken prisoner. As for _who_ had taken them prisoner, he was not one-hundred percent certain. At least, not yet. All he needed was a good look at whoever stood outside the cell, and as this thought came to him, he rose to his feet and approached the bars. Presumably, these aliens had cleared out the resident warriors, allowing themselves free reign over the fortress as a whole. That, and Colonel Sheppard was missing. Daniel felt a pang of worry, even if he had not seen the Colonel go down when they had been defending the stargate. He was still uncertain as to what had occurred there, why the stargate had deactivated and why they had been left at the mercy of these unknown aliens. At least, they were unknown to most of the team. Daniel found that he knew very well the alien he was faced with now.

The alien ahead of him stepped to one side somewhat, placing itself in the light of one of the nearby torches. Now Daniel could get a proper look at it, and upon seeing it he felt a sense of both dread and familiarity.

The alien was tall, well over six feet, with a bulky build to it that it was not so much because of muscle, but because of the exoskeleton that housed its bipedal form. Whether or not it was an artificial set of armour, or actually a part of the living, breathing creature, Daniel could not be certain. Its head was a smooth shell, and instead of eyes it had a single black slit. There was no mouth or nose, rather a long vertical opening where two small mandibles were located, each one twitching absently as the alien watched Daniel. The whole creature was a reddish-brown colour, and this one had a gold trim at its shoulders, painted on by all appearances. And Daniel, upon seeing this thing, felt a wave of anxiety wash through him. He had never expected to see these things again, and he had certainly not expected to be taken captive by them at any point. For twenty years these aliens had never been encountered by anyone from Earth, not since their failed attempt to infiltrate the United States government. Now, here was one, and for all Daniel knew it could have been one that had escaped from Earth after the 'foothold' situation had been rectified. It was perhaps the strangest thing to happen to him in a long time, which was probably not a surprise, given that he had hardly been on any trips through the stargate for the last decade. And now, here he was, first mission through the stargate for some time, and he comes face-to-face with something he had thought he would never see again.

Granted, he had been unconscious through most of the species' first visit to Earth, and one of them had impersonated him through use of a sophisticated hologram. Still, he had seen the reports, classified as they were, and he had seen the few bodies that had been recovered after the incident. There was no mistaking it: this alien was one of those that had come so close to taking full control of the SGC that the reports of the matter were still classified to the highest level after all of this time. This alien had a small, silver disc-shaped device attached to the base of its neck, and as it spoke, the device lit up slightly. It occurred to Daniel that it was some form of translator, and it was from this device that the synthesized voice came through. Looking at the alien's mouth, it was unlikely it had the means to form the kind of vocalisations necessary to communicate in the way humans did, hence the need for the device.

"Where's the Colonel?" Daniel asked it.

"Your superior is to be interrogated," the alien replied. "And the rest of you will be, in turn."

Daniel motioned to Natalia, lying still on the floor, back against the wall and teeth clenched from the pain.

"I need one of the first aid kits we were carrying," Daniel said. "She's wounded and she needs help."

"She'll live." The alien did not sound at all concerned, and the coldness in the synthesized voice sent a chill through Daniel. When these aliens had last been encountered, they had been cold and calculating, unafraid to kill those who stood in their path. At the same time, they had revealed very little about themselves, which only made them all the more unnerving. It was the unknown that was the most frightening, and these aliens were very much an unknown quality.

"You can't be sure of that." Daniel could not help but allow some of his growing frustration seep into his voice. "She's hurt and she's in pain. She needs help."

"Help?" The alien sounded surprised. Its mandibles twitched, the slit for a mouth it had pulsing slightly. "I know where you are from, and I know what you stand for. Expect no mercy from me or any of my compatriots." With that said, it turned around and started for the exit. Daniel watched it with growing anger, and as it started up the stairs for the exit, he clutched two of the metal bars before him and squeezed them hard enough to turn his knuckles white. Everything had gone so wrong, and it seemed that things were only going to get worse. It was futile effort, as Daniel did not have the strength to go bending cell bars, unfortunately.

Daniel stepped away from the cell door and went back to where Natalia lay. He knelt by her, and was joined by Joanne, who somewhat gingerly pulled up the blood-soaked bandage over the woman's left leg. It was absolutely sticky with blood and would, ideally, need to be changed to a fresh one. They all knew that was unlikely to occur anytime soon.

"Sergeant, how are you feeling?" Joanne asked her. Natalia shook her head, shifting slightly where she sat, only to wince when pain shot up her leg.

"The same." She took a breath, attempting to gather herself. "But if it comes to it, don't hesitate to leave me behind. I'll only slow you down."

Joanne shook her head. Daniel had his doubts about the woman's capacity to lead, yet here and now she came across level-headed and calm. From her waist, she retrieved her water canteen, one of the few things of theirs the aliens had not confiscated. Unscrewing the cap, she offered the canteen to Natalia, who took a reasonably-sized gulp from it.

"Who are those freaks?" Joanne asked, directing the question to Daniel. He thought about his answer for a moment, aware that details of the SGC's previous encounter with these aliens had been classified to the highest level. He could get into serious trouble discussing it with someone who had not been there when it had happened, but something told him that this was the least of his concerns at the moment.

"Would you believe me if I said we've met them before?" Daniel met her gaze, and Joanne gave him a bemused look, with a slightly quirked eyebrow to go with it. "It was over twenty years ago. Those aliens, the ones holding us here? They almost took full control of the SGC."

"How the hell did they do that?"

"A lot of holograms and subterfuge," Daniel replied. "Long story short, they were stopped. Some of them escaped, and the rest that got stuck on Earth blew themselves up. I don't know if we're dealing with the survivors here, but I wouldn't be surprised if we were."

"But, here? We're on the other side of the galaxy. Why would they be here? And why would they be here when _we're_ here?"

Daniel shook his head. He was only guessing, and he was as much in the dark as Joanne was.

"Bad luck, maybe?"

* * *

The recent new arrivals had cleared out the fortress with alarming efficiency. There had not been a great many warriors to begin with, and faced with the military precision of these aliens, they had been eliminated with an ease that suggested both sophisticated weapons technology and excellent military training. As for the civilian population, they had been forced indoors. Some had decided to take their chances by fleeing into the surrounding desert. If anything, the civilians were the one thing these aliens were not concerned with, and with that in mind, they had already gunned down a fair number of them in the streets. A means of being thorough, as any humans present in the fortress had a chance of becoming a threat, and these aliens had not come here to have their plans impeded upon by some backwater primitive humans.

John had come to within the fortress, specifically within a small, rectangular room that could have been anywhere within it. There were no windows, and only one door at the far end. A bench was nearby, layered with alien computers and equipment that was at odds with the general Goa'uld aesthetic of the surrounding interior. This tech carried the same purple-red shell-like exterior of the ship parked outside, giving it an organic appearance on the outside yet the displays upon such devices were holographic, belying some very sophisticated artificial technology encased within. One of the aliens, the burly purple one he had seen shoot Natalia outside, was working at one of these small computers. It tapped in a few commands, the buttons practically squishing under its touch. Another one, somewhat less imposing and a deep red in colour, stood guard by the door. Despite the variations in colour tone and size, they otherwise appeared similar, although he noticed the purple one bore a few scars across its neck and torso that had left jagged striations in its exoskeleton. Something told him that if this was not the one in charge, it was at least the second-in-command.

John was bound to some kind of elevated rack, putting him upright but at a slight backwards angle. Looking to either side, his saw his arms and legs were stuck down by some purple, web-like material that was, from what he could tell, rock solid despite its apparent soft appearance. Something wet and similar in appearance was at the back of his head, and he noticed what he took to be a power cable running from the rack and towards one of the devices on the bench. The cable itself was a deep purple in colour, almost slick in appearance, once again belying the organic nature of the technology present.

The door ahead slid open, and another of the aliens strode inside. This one had to be in charge, John figured; it had a neat, gold trim along its shoulders and down part of its torso, not to mention the disc-shaped device at the base of its neck. As it entered, the door slid closed behind it, and the alien made its way purposefully towards John. Cast in the glow of the yellow light fittings set in the ceiling above, John could properly see what these aliens looked like, and they were not at all like anything he had encountered before. Even their faces lacked the typically 'human' features of a nose, a mouth and even a discernible pair of eyes. As a result, he found himself making eye contact with the narrow black slit on the face of the alien approaching him, as he assumed this was where its visual organs were located.

"What are you?" John asked. He squirmed under the binds, but nothing gave. They were solid, and damn sticky too.

"You can call me the 'Field Marshall'," the alien replied. Its voice emanated from the disc at its throat, coming out in a synthesized tone that was unlike the actual guttural noises escaping from its own vocal chords. A translator, John realised. At least this indicated that it wanted to communicate, rather than simply torture and kill him.

"Why are you here?"

"I will ask the questions," the Field Marshall replied. His compatriot, the burly purple one, rose to its feet then. One hand went to a switch on one of the devices laid out upon the bench before him, but a raised hand from the Field Marshall prevented him from flicking it. John had a feeling that whatever the switch did, it was nothing good for him. "Cooperate, and the Commander here will not need to inflict any harm upon you."

"Hang on a minute." John was a little lost, and that was putting it lightly. "What the hell is going on? I don't know who you people are, or why you even bothered to capture _me_. You're going to have to give me a little context before you start with the torture stuff. I think that's fair, what about you?" He frowned, eyes meeting with whatever the Field Marshall had for eyes.

"Context?" The Field Marshall sounded almost amused, but with the synthesized voice it was a little hard to tell. "I have been searching for this place for some time. It was until the jammers present were deactivated that I was able to home in on this world's exact location. I presume that your people are responsible for that?"

John sighed. Turning off the jammers had been a bad idea after all. Even so, the odds of a bunch of weird and hostile aliens seeking them out had seemed very slim at the time.

"You wear the uniform of someone of the SGC." Now this statement caused some alarm within John and he did his best to hide his immediate reaction. If his eyes had widened, they had done so only slightly. Still, this was apparently enough for the alien Field Marshall to notice. "You know who I speak of. There would be no use in denying where you are from, as I have been there myself. Once, some time ago, and it is because of your people that I am here today."

"You were on Earth?" John wanted to find out as much as he could, upon learning this fact. Even though he was tied up and vulnerable, he could at least try to gain some intel on these creatures. It might come in handy, if he survived past today. Sure, it was not the first time he had been tied up, but it was the first time he had been tied up by these guys. He did not know what to expect from them, aside from the fact that it was unlikely to be any good for him.

"For a short while." The Field Marshall stepped closer, so that they were practically face-to-face. John detected a slight, fish-like smell coming off of the Field Marshall, not unlike something one might get from a crab or shellfish. Indeed, these aliens did have some vague likeness to such creatures. Being aliens, such similarities were unlikely to go very far. Valkas came to mind, an alien who, by all rights, had a reptilian appearance yet was as far removed from a typical Earth 'reptile' as one could get.

"I lead an incursion," the Field Marshall continued. "I was to lay the groundwork for a full-scale takeover of your world's governments. You are unaware of this?"

"If it happened, then I didn't hear about it." John offered the alien a smile. "But you see, no one tells me anything. I'm what you'd call a 'grunt', back home." Not entirely true, but in this case, he really had no idea who these aliens were and what connection they had to the SGC. It had likely occurred before his time involved with the program.

The Field Marshall tilted his head a little, as if confused.

"Your people kept what happened a secret, didn't they?"

"I guess they did." John shrugged. "If you really did lead an 'incursion', like you say you did, then it's no surprise that my people kept the whole thing under wraps. You see, stuff like that would be embarrassing for the higher-ups if it ever got out. Wouldn't want to cause any undue panic, would we?" John fell silent then, figuring that he had said enough. Even so, he needed to string this Field Marshall along enough in order to gleam whatever information he could. There was a fine line here, between saying too little and saying too much.

"Is it common practice for your people to keep such things secret?"

"Ah, yeah. Yeah, you could say it is." John frowned. "What do you want from me, really?"

The alien seemed to ignore the question. Instead, it appeared to consider what next to say, taking a moment to continue.

"I was in charge of the team that was sent to your home-world," the alien said. "When we were discovered, most of us escaped through the stargate. However, a number of my soldiers were stranded, and like any warrior killed themselves instead of allowing themselves to be captured." It was hard to tell with the synthesized voice, but John thought he detected a growing edge to the alien's tones, as if the subject was a touchy one for it. "I was among those who escaped, as should be obvious. There was, however, someone close to me who did not return. Someone who was stranded, and would have no doubt activated the self-destruct built within his equipment."

"And who would that have been?"

"My son."

John should have known that things were personal. It became apparent that the Field Marshall may not have been operating within the bounds of whatever his people usually did, that he may be dealing with a rogue.

"When I returned to my people, I found that even my own government wished to bury the affair. Those soldiers who had died under my command were forgotten about, their names taken off-record, the whole matter buried. As for me, I was discredited, and any of my calls to return to your planet to attempt another operation were rejected. I have had a long time to pursue other avenues, and that is why I am here. As soon as I saw you and your team, I knew where you were from. I tried to make my people acknowledge the losses made under my command on that original mission, but it was no use. So, I intend on rectifying this in my own way."

"You're saying…"

"I'm saying that I do not operate with the sanction of my government," the Field Marshall interrupted. "I am here with a specific purpose in mind, joined by scores of those who remain loyal to me. I came here to find a certain set of items I learned were here, but it has become apparent that your team has seen to it that said items are no longer where they should be. In fact, the entire armoury here was destroyed with weapons I know to belong to your team." Now the Field Marshall took a step towards him, and had it had a set of normal eyes, John might have seen some genuine malice within them. "There is a device, with the ability to grant one the power to pass through solid matter. You would not happen to know where it is?"

John shook his head. Everything had happened so fast he had not asked Joanne and the others what they had found in the armoury. If they had found something like what the Field Marshall described, then it was imperative that he not get hold of it.

The Field Marshall walked over to the bench nearby. John could see that his equipment was there, namely his vest, his rifle and everything else even remotely weapon-related that he had been carrying. Left in little more than his pants, boots and black singlet, John felt a little bare when faced with his captors. The Field Marshall picked up the IDC device, otherwise known as a 'garage door opener'. It held the device up for him to see, all while the Field Marshall's burly purple subordinate lingered near the controls to whatever power was flowing into the rack.

"This opens the iris on your stargate, does it not?" The Field Marshall's gaze met with John's. "It appeared that it did not work for you earlier, Colonel."

"You know my name?"

"We overheard the transmission you shared with your commanders," the Field Marshall replied. "They refused to open the iris for you. They fear they will bring further threats to their home-world. They left you behind, Colonel Sheppard. They left you behind to die. Just what allegiance do you owe those who would leave you to an uncertain fate on an alien world?"

John was not buying into this line of conversation. There were problems back at the SGC, certainly. McClintock and his IOA backers had made their move, and they had done so at the worst possible time. Yet even this was not about to turn John against his own people.

"If anything, you are more like me, in that regard. Your own people turned their back on you. Even if you somehow free yourself, you will have to find another way home." The Field Marshall placed the IDC device back upon the bench. With that done, he grabbed hold of the M1911A1 pistol that John had been carrying. The alien regarded the weapon carefully, turning it about in his hands before working the slide and ejecting the magazine.

"I find it unusual that a people with such unsophisticated weaponry could have proven to be such a galaxy-wide nuisance." The Field Marshall slid the magazine back into the weapon and put it down. "How did your people destroy the Goa'uld?"

"A lot of dumb luck?" John suggested. The Field Marshall stepped towards him again. John met the alien's gaze in turn, feeling a coldness from the creature that had not been there earlier.

"You're going to tell me where the phase-shifter is," the Field Marshall said. "And you're going to tell me all about the defences you have at Stargate Command."

"No, I'm not going to do that. I'd be more than happy to talk about anything else, like the weather. Or vintage cars, or country music. But not those things you just mentioned."

The Field Marshall did not immediately reply. Instead, he turned to the Commander and gave him a short nod. The Commander pressed a button on the small, organically-grown set of controls. A quiet hum sounded from within, and John felt some kind of electrical current surge through him, fed through the power cable and into the metal rack he was bound upon. The pain went from minor to intense suddenly, and he gritted his teeth as every muscle in his body tensed and spasmed. He could hardly move, bound as he was, and instead he found himself writhing in place as the energy surged through him, setting off just about every pain receptor in his body. He did not yell, through sheer force of will, and the electrical surge ended as abruptly as it had begun. The Commander switched off the device, and the pain left John's body suddenly.

"Maybe providence has brought you to us," the Field Marshall said. "It cannot be coincidence that you were here when my people and I arrived. You were the ones to deactivate the jammers here, are you not?"

John was still a little stunned from the shock, and as such did not answer. He had been tortured before, this was nothing new. Still, it was the kind of situation he would have preferred to avoid.

"You have what I want. Where is it, Colonel Sheppard? Save yourself and your friends all this pain and tell me. Where is it?"

John knew that the device had to be in Joanne's pack, the same one Valkas had made off with. He should have known better than to trust that alien, in fact they _all_ should have known better. They had bought well into the friendly, cooperative exterior Valkas had portrayed, yet it was apparent now that he had been working his way to getting the things he had failed to acquire during his first trip here.

"I don't know," John said, through gritted teeth. The Commander adjusted a setting on the portable alien computer, because the next surge of energy that came through was substantially stronger than the last. This time, John did yell, his body wracked with the pain of whatever exotic alien energy was sent shooting through his system. It felt as if his whole nervous system was on fire, and it seemed likely that it was, in a way. A little more power, and maybe they would burn it all out, render him a mindless vegetable. Before any further damage could be done, the Commander deactivated the charge, and once again the current ceased abruptly. John could smell ozone in the air, the kind of stench one might get if they had taken a grinder to steel. It was likely the rack he was fixed upon, although small traces of smoke had started to waft off of his clothes.

"My subordinate could increase the power," the Field Marshall said. "If he were to do that, your flesh would burn. And I do not intend on causing any lasting damage to you, not yet. Not if you cooperate."

"You think I'm going to tell you our defences?" John asked. "I couldn't do that. You're an officer, you should know. No soldier under your command would give up critical information, no matter what was done to them to get it."

"You are correct," the Field Marshall said. "But we're on opposing sides here, Colonel. It is my imperative to learn everything I can from you and the rest of your team, using whatever means I can. I could easily burn you alive, but that is unlikely to net me the results I want."

"So, how about you just give up?"

The Field Marshall shook his head. He walked over to the bench and there, he picked up something small and purple. It had the same general shape as a tiara, or any number of jewelleries that one might place upon their head. Made from the same gooey, purple material as the binds that held John in place, the Field Marshall turned to him with it in hand. Holding it up, the piece seemed otherwise innocuous, little more than another weird alien item with no discernible purpose. The Commander, behind him, activated a holographic readout from one of their computers. A blue screen appeared, suspended over it, with bizarre alien symbols trailing down it.

"This can very easily destroy your mind." The Field Marshall stepped up to him and placed the item to his forehead, wrapping it around either side of his head. "That is, if you fight it. I recommend you don't."

John felt the cold, sticky material press against his skull. Almost right away, he felt a sharp, stabbing pain that seemed to pierce the very centre of his brain. Clenching his jaw, he had little opportunity to even make a sound as the world around him went dark. On the outside, his eyes rolled back into his head, and the Commander's display changed to a flash of images, drawn directly from the Colonel's mind. Flashes of recent events, mostly, including images of Joanne, Daniel, Natalia, Ra's warriors, Colonel Bastion…But as the Commander adjusted the settings, the rush of images slowed, and places and people from further back in his life began to spring to the fore.

John could only just make out the Field Marshall's commands, as he saw childhood memories play out before him. He tried to fight through the veil that had fallen over him, but the haze was growing thick, and he found himself being cycled from one prominent memory to another. It was like viewing a slideshow, or a home movie, and before he could settle on one memory he was thrown into another, each one later than the previous. His childhood flashed before his eyes, as did his early adult years, among them his Air Force training and his first missions in Afghanistan. People he had known years, people he had seen die, were there again, alive and well.

"I want the most recent," the Field Marshall commanded.

Suddenly, he was there in the SGC. Personnel milled by, going about their business. John was floating along, headed for the gate room. And through it all, he could just make out the figure of the Field Marshall, seemingly transparent and far away, despite the short distance he was in real life. They were looking at the SGC, the layout and the amount of personnel present. They were going to make him pull whatever information about the place he had, and they were going to record it on their little alien computer for later reference.

John knew then he had to fight it. Focusing with what strength he could muster, he put forth a sheer, physical wall in the memory that was otherwise not present in the real world. It was his mind, after all, and he could do whatever he wanted within it. As soon as he did so, blocking whatever view the Field Marshall had of the SGC, another pain bored its way into his skull, threatening to demolish the wall. John gritted his teeth, all the while the manipulations of the settings by the Commander threatened to put a hole through this sheer, never-ending brick wall between them and his mind. He could see parts of it falling away, as if some mighty drill was working against it on the other side. The more he fought, the more he pushed to place those fallen bricks back into their housings, the more the drill forced itself against the opposite side and the more the pain increased.

"You're going to burn out his mind," the Field Marshall warned, his voice distant. He was speaking to the Commander, and from what John could feel, the Field Marshall was most likely correct.

It was not the wall John focused on next. Instead, it was a memory, one that had come up to him clear as day despite its age. He sat at home, specifically the home of his parents, with sunlight shining in and the living room the way he remembered it when he had been little more than ten years old. It was a large house, in an affluent neighbourhood, his father's wealth having ensured he had been comfortable for much of his childhood. There was a golden retriever pattering its way towards him, a dog that he knew had been dead for many years, yet here and now it may as well have been as alive as he was. Focusing on this seemed to make the pain diminish, and as he sat there stroking the dog's fur, he realised then that he now had full control. The wall was gone, it was no longer necessary; his mind was his own domain, and no one, no matter what technology they had at their disposal, could change that.

"Switch it off." The Field Marshall sounded irritated, or as irritated as a synthetic voice could be. The device was pulled off of his head, and suddenly John Sheppard was back in the world, as unfortunate as that may have been. His situation had not changed, he was still bound to a metal rack faced with two weird aliens, but they were no longer sifting through his mind. He had a splitting headache now, but this was nothing a few painkillers would not fix.

"You have fun in there?" John said, through gritted teeth. The Field Marshall threw the mind probe device onto the bench, before turning around to face him again.

"We'll simply have to resort to more conventional ways of getting what we want."

John found it a little difficult to focus, as his mind was still reeling from what had just transpired. Memories he had thought long buried had suddenly risen to the forefront, and he could not help but be even partially distracted as these images darted about his mind. It was not something he should have been doing, his mind should have been on the situation at hand, yet some of these images were ones he had thought long lost. If anything, the alien 'mind probe' had helped him to remember, despite the pain it had caused.

"We may have to try a different tactic," the Field Marshall declared. "I do not wish to damage our prisoners irreparably, not when they can still be of use."

John's attention came back to the world at large right then and there. The Commander strode out of the room, leaving him in the company of the Field Marshall.

"What are you planning?" John asked him. "You planning to attack Earth?"

"I plan on finishing what was started," the Field Marshall answered. "For the death of my son, of my team…You, and the rest of your people, are going receive the retribution that you deserve."

* * *

**Note: **

_I appreciate the comments, but I must reply to the last guest reviewer, if only to clear up a few things: Yes, Sheppard has certainly seen organic ships before. The last chapter was split into 'three' going by the breaks, and the first one, where the team sees the ship, is mainly from Joanne's perspective. John's remark, 'What the hell is that?', is more for the fact that it is no ship he has seen before, Wraith or otherwise (probably not the best choice of phrase for him, admittedly. If anything, that line should have gone to Joanne). Joanne, on the other hand, has never seen organic ships, so her more bemused reaction is what that part of the chapter focused on given the perspective. The last section, where they're attacked by the stargate, is where it's from John's perspective. And by that point, the organic ship was not the focus._

_The Alpha Site is a matter I have left up in the air for now, whereas the Beta Site was closed down three years before (this will be mentioned, later, and may or may not factor into a greater plot). Jack has a part to play in things to come._


	16. Whatever Happened To Valkas Kavellan?

**Whatever Happened to Valkas Kavellan?**

Valkas had not been entirely sure what he had been thinking. He had seen an opportunity and he had taken it, as one was wont to do so, although he had not planned much further than that. He had the pack containing the devices found in the armoury, but beyond that he had no real idea what to do with them. He could not go back to the stargate, not when it was under such heavy guard. These aliens had it under lockdown, and he himself was still unarmed. He intended to rectify this soon enough, but for now he had found himself once again crawling through sewer tunnels and the like as he worked his way into the fortress.

He knew Joanne and the others had been captured. He had seen them being carted away by the aliens, taken into the fortress while Valkas had observed from nearby, keeping himself hidden. Despite how things may have appeared, he did not intend to abandon them. Granted, had the stargate been unguarded he might have tried his luck getting off-world, but he knew his people would never accept him back. Not even with the devices in tow, which they would most likely confiscate and he would be met with interrogations and general humiliation as he was made out to be the coward they likely thought him to be. To his people, he was presumed dead, and the mission he had been on had been so far off-the-record that they would do anything to keep it buried. In truth, he did not know for sure how he would be treated if he returned home, and he was not keen on taking his chances on it either.

He stayed in the shadows, as he moved into the fortress. By now, most of the warriors present were dead. The aliens had wiped them out fairly quickly, and Valkas found soon enough what had become of their remains. Coming out of the tunnels inside a dusty, cluttered backroom of sorts, Valkas came up to a small window with a set of wooden shutters over it. Pushing one open slightly, he was able to look out onto a corner of the plaza, and there he watched as a few of the aliens piled the bodies of the fallen warriors, having taken parts of the armour and their staff weapons away. Anything that might have been useful had been stripped from them, and as the last body was thrown onto the pile one of the aliens threw some kind of explosive device upon them. An incendiary grenade of sorts, it ignited in a flash of flame that burned fiercely, turning several of the topmost corpses into blackened husks almost straight away. The rest began to burn normally, flames enveloping the pile rapidly, thick smoke pluming off of it. From where Valkas was, he caught a whiff of the stench of burning flesh, and he found himself cough as the smoke tickled his throat. Closing the shutters over the window, he jumped off of the crates he had stood upon, before looking to the room's exit. He was not entirely familiar with this corner of the fortress, but he had some idea of where Joanne and the others might have been taken.

As for his plan, he did not have one. All he knew was that his chances were far better with the rest of the team with him. That, and a whole bunch of guns. He needed a weapon, if he was going to make any real progress here. Coming to the door, he hit the panel by it, causing it to slide open. Peering out into the corridor on the other side, he saw no enemy soldiers, and so carefully darted out and made his way down its length. He made his way to a junction, not far from the control centre, and here he ducked into an alcove by the corner as a pair of the aliens marched by the adjoining corridor. Both spoke to each other in deep, guttural tones, speaking in a tongue Valkas could not understand. These two carried a sleek, deep-red-coloured rifle each, the barrels glowing a slight blue hue as their inner energies remained dormant. Valkas looked about for some kind of weapon, however improvised. There was an urn sitting on a nearby marble stand, little more than decoration. Picking up the hefty pot, Valkas crept around the corner, moving quickly by keeping light on his feet. He tried to time his footsteps with those of the two alien soldiers walking ahead of him, at least that way they would not easily hear him coming.

As soon as he was behind them, he brought the urn down hard upon the head of one of them. It shattered into a dozen pieces, and Valkas felt part of the alien's crustacean-like shell crack, purple blood seeping out of its ruptured skull. It hit the floor with a sudden and unceremonious _clunk_, whilst the other one turned around suddenly. Valkas had his hands on the alien's rifle right away, yanking hard on it, while the alien's hands retained their tough grip upon it. Valkas kicked out with one foot, hitting the alien in the left shin, unbalancing it, before he swept an elbow around and caught it in the face. Under his strength, the soft flesh of the alien's face did not hold up well against the Calsharan's blow, and purple blood gushed from its slit of a mouth. The alien lost its grip upon its rifle as it stumbled, and Valkas was able to snatch the weapon into his own hands. Instead of shooting his foe, and likely bringing further attention to himself, he instead spun the rifle around and brought the butt-end of it down hard into the alien's already bruised face. It fell backwards, stumbling against the wall behind it, before coming to a rest on the marble floor.

Valkas regarded it a moment longer, to make sure it did not get up. When he was satisfied that it was, at the very least, unconscious, Valkas took a moment to check the alien weapon. It was built from the same organic material as their ships and, as he surmised, the aliens themselves. Nonetheless, the weapon felt sturdy in his grasp, and there was solid technology infused within the organic shell. Some kind of power setting, he saw, which was currently put at about halfway. Presumably, the lowest point was for stunning opponents. As for the highest, he wondered if that would be even safe for the user. For now, he kept it halfway, the glowing line of blue lights on the side of the weapon indicating its current power level.

Valkas continued on, moving quickly as to avoid any further patrols that might be coming this way. He was more familiar with this section of the fortress, and as he neared the control centre he stopped at a small side-door. Opening it, he stepped into a store room of sorts, cluttered and dusty. He was very much winging it now, and he was not even sure why he was going to stick his neck out for his human companions. The only one he even slightly liked was Joanne, although Daniel seemed friendly enough. The others though, well, he would not miss them if they were to meet untimely deaths. At the same time, he knew he could not just leave them here, not when his own chances of escape were so slim.

At the moment, Earth was the only place he could realistically go anyway. It frustrated him, to have ended up in such a sorry situation, and he swore that one day he would find his superior, Corasar, and make damn sure that he paid for what had happened to him.

There was a metal grating up by the ceiling here. Valkas shifted one of the nearby metal containers underneath it, before he put aside the rifle for now and climbed atop the box. Hands on the grate, he pulled on it. In this fortress, these gratings were often not fixed firmly down. This one was not much different, and it only took a careful pull to one side to pop it free. Behind it was a ventilation duct of sorts, and a gentle breeze wafted through it as the fortress's climate control systems pumped cool air throughout. Valkas picked up the rifle and put it inside, before climbing in after it. The duct was a tight fight for him. It was not as uncomfortable as it may have been for others, for he had been in enough tight places for claustrophobia to no longer be an issue. He had spent days in the under-halls of this fortress, avoiding patrols and planning his escape to the stargate, fashioning weapons out of stone and scrap metal (and just about anything else he could get his hands on). Anything to increase his chances of getting through the stargate, all the while he had survived on murky water and small rodents.

He began to crawl through it in earnest, wracking his brain for the memories relevant to this part of the fortress. When he had finally escaped this place, he had sworn never to return. Yet here he was, with fate once again messing with him and taking him back to the very place he had sought to avoid. And to make matters more complicated, he was about to stick his neck out for a bunch of people he had very little love for. His life was a genuine mess, and sometimes he wondered what he could have possibly done to have deserved this.

Regardless, he kept crawling. It was at least cool inside the ducts, which made for a pleasant change compared to the heat of the desert outside.

* * *

John had been taken off of the rack, and now he was seated at the bench where the Field Marshall and his subordinate had gathered their items. Alien computers and the like were before him, among them what he took to be some sort of communication device, complete with a visible antenna. The Colonel's body ached all over, sweat drenching his skin and soaking through his tank top. With the burly alien Commander just to his left, John had little room to move, not when they had forced him to keep his hands upon the table.

"Your own people abandoned you, Colonel," the Field Marshall said. He stood nearby, watching the Colonel carefully. With the Field Marshall, it was next to impossible to read his expression. "What allegiance do you owe them?"

"They're my people," John replied, through gritted teeth. "I'm sure there's a good reason why."

"They fear that you would bring further threats to your world," the Field Marshall said. "Your people have lived in the dark for far too long. You continue your crusade against the other peoples of the galaxy, using technology that isn't even of your own devising, all the while the bulk of your population remains in the dark as to what is truly out there. From my understanding, the existence of your stargate program could very well tear your planet's nations apart if it was ever discovered by the general populace."

"What's your point?"

"I am simply making an observation." The Field Marshall gestured to the communications device before him. "In a moment, my people by the stargate will activate it and open a wormhole to your home-world. I wish for you to talk to your people, tell them that you have renounced them and that you will tell all you know of their operation to an alien power. I suspect that this will irk them enough to send a recovery team through."

"And then what?" John was not sure what game this alien was playing. Not a good one, by any stretch of the imagination.

"No more questions, Colonel." The alien leaned forwards, hand going to the communication device in front of John. "You will repeat what I say, without question. Otherwise, one of your friends will die. And I suspect that you do not wish for such a fate to befall any of them."

John could not be certain of what the Field Marshall was planning. He found himself faced with the communications device, and the Field Marshall reached over and switched it on. A quiet hum sounded from it, and the Field Marshall muttered something into his own communications piece.

There was a grating up by the ceiling to his right, and John saw, through his peripheral vision, movement behind it. It could have been nothing, little more than a trick of the light or wishful thinking. However, for a brief moment there, perhaps barely a second, he had glimpsed a pair of stark amber eyes in the gloom behind the metal grating. Again, he could have been seeing things, who knew just what the alien mind probe had done to him, but regardless he had to do something. Trick of the light or not, now was the time to act. Dying was very likely here, not that it would be his first brush with death.

"The stargate is open," the Field Marshall declared. "Speak into the device, clearly. Tell them that you renounce them and intend to tell all their secrets to the Goa'uld here."

"They wouldn't believe that," John remarked. He felt the hand of the Commander grip his shoulder then, and the grasp was a powerful one. Squirming under the grip, John leaned forwards, directing his eyes to the device before him. Lights blinked, and he thought he could hear the static of an open line emanating from it.

"Tell them." The Field Marshall's synthetic voice took on a harsher tone. John had a feeling that he was about to play into a much grander scheme the Field Marshall had in place, and with this in mind he knew he could not go along with it. After a pause, he spoke.

"This is Colonel John Sheppard," he said, and with some surprise he heard a response. A familiar voice filtered in through the device, and it was a voice he had not expected to hear.

"_Is that you, John?"_ It was McClintock. Of all people, it was the man who had given the order to leave the team to their fate. John clenched his jaw, doing his best to keep his anger contained.

"_I'm glad to hear you're alive."_ A lie, if there ever was one. John supposed that it was no surprise a former lawyer was lying through his teeth like that. _"What's your status, John? We were worried a little there."_ McClintock must not have known that John had overheard his exchange with General Janssen. John could feel Natalia's old trench knife, still in his boot, pressing against his ankle. Slowly, he lowered one hand from the table, not all the way, but enough to even slightly decrease the distance between it and his ankle. At the same time, he balled his other hand into a fist. The Commander by his side, the Field Marshall far off to his right and the alien guard by the door. Three against one. Not the best odds, but they would have to do.

"McClintock?" John asked. He could picture the man, standing in the control room, leaning towards the microphone. Feigning concern, for the benefit of the personnel in the room with him.

"_Yes, John? What is it?"_

"I'm coming to get _you_."

In a move that was performed at a speed that surprised even John, he swung his fist towards the Field Marshall, the blow connecting with his stomach. Whilst he stumbled back a few steps, John yanked the trench knife from his boot and jumped out of his chair, lunging for the Commander. Nearby, the metal grating fell from the wall and the third alien standing guard near the door started to race forwards, weapon raised. A bolt of energy lanced from its rifle, striking the wall near John. He ducked on impulse, sparks showering over him. He was upon the Commander then, sticking the trench knife into the alien's shoulder. Despite the carapace, the blade found a soft point, sinking into the soft flesh underneath, purple blood oozing out of it. Before he could yank it free, the alien shoved him, hard, sending him a few steps backwards.

Valkas jumped out of the grating, swivelling around to face the third alien guard. A shot from the energy rifle he carried struck the alien in the chest, blasting a smoking hole into him. Purple blood spattered onto the wall behind him, and the alien twirled slightly where it stood, before falling to the floor.

John struck the Commander in the face, grabbing hold of him before his opponent could retaliate. Throwing him towards the metal rack, he watched as the Commander struck upon it, and before he could recover John had reached for the machine's controls at the bench. With the press of a button, he sent energy surging through the power cables and into the metal rack, treating his alien torturer with the same kind of pain it had inflicted upon him earlier. The Commander let out a guttural howl as it convulsed against the metal rack, sparks shooting off of it, smoke starting to waft off of its increasingly burnt exoskeleton.

"Come on Colonel!" Valkas was racing for the door. Nearby, the Field Marshall was slowly rising to his feet. John saw this and delivered a swift kick to the alien leader's head, sending him back onto the floor. Purple blood sprayed out of his narrow slit of a mouth. John looked to Valkas, and seeing no other option, ran after him. The door ahead slid open then, and a further two of the aliens appeared, weapons raised. Valkas blasted both without hesitation, sending them falling with smouldering holes shot into their torsos. John followed Valkas out into the corridor, and there he tried to determine the way to the dungeon. They had to find Daniel and the others, but the appearance of several more of the aliens down the hall made it readily apparent that this course of action was not going to be easy.

"We've got to find the others!" John threw himself behind a nearby statue as several searing bolts of white energy shot past him. Valkas returned fire, taking down another of the aliens before he turned around and started running.

"You got a plan?" John raced after him, following the Calsharan as they raced around a corner. He did not recognize this section of the fortress, so he would have to rely on Valkas' guidance. He was torn on that thought, given the fact that the alien had run off on them earlier. One thing he did find familiar was the pack that Valkas was wearing. He still had the devices Joanne had found in the armoury, the very ones the Field Marshall seemed to want. That was something, at least, and gave them an edge somewhere, if not in numbers and firepower, but simply in the fact they had something the bad guys wanted.

"No plan." John followed Valkas into a narrower hall, one that lacked the more refined interior architecture of the previous halls. This one seemed to lead into some deeper, dirtier part of the fortress, and it occurred to John that they were heading into the sewers again. He stopped at a doorway, and Valkas, still running ahead a short distance, realised that the Colonel was no longer close behind him. He turned around, amber eyes widening slightly, before they narrowed into a much more critical gaze.

"What's the matter?" He asked.

"This whole situation?" John shook his head. "I'm not leaving Daniel, or Bowers or Natalia. We have to go back for them."

"Colonel, we're outnumbered. We're outgunned. We have to get out of here." He looked past him, back down the hall. They could hear the footfalls of several of the aliens, along with their guttural voices barking at one another, as they searched for the fleeing pair. They had only moments before they would be found, John knew this just as well as Valkas did. And yet here he was, being stubborn. Maybe not the best move, but he sure as hell was not leaving anyone behind.

"Where to? Because I'm not leaving my team behind…" He trailed off, as a thought occurred to him. He should have remembered it sooner. It was perhaps understandable he had not. Getting tortured made it easy to forget the smaller details. "You said we're outgunned? Maybe we can level the playing field a bit." He looked past Valkas, and down the tunnel in front of them. He could hear running water from somewhere ahead, deep within. The air here carried the recognizable stench of human waste.

"You've got a plan?" Valkas' eyes lit up. He knew what John was thinking, and from all appearances he agreed.

"Do they have a hangar here?" John asked.

"Yes." Valkas frowned. "We're flying out?"

"If we have to." John was not sure of his exact plan, but it always paid to have a contingency. "Right now, I think it's time we implemented Plan B."


	17. When All Goes As Planned

**When All Goes as Planned**

All those years of searching, all to come to this. The Field Marshall had not expected anymore than a handful of Jaffa to be here, serving as custodians of a fortress belonging to a long dead System Lord. Instead, he had run into the very people he had sought to destroy, not to mention one of those alien meddlers who was apparently on the side of the humans from Earth. Something had gone wrong somewhere, and he refused to think that perhaps some higher power had decided to play with him, send his plans into disarray all for some cruel comedy.

The Field Marshall deactivated his translator. He had no need for it among his own, and he regarded his partially burned Commander with some disdain. His pheromones certainly said as much, and he could detect the shame in his Commander's own emissions. The trusted subordinate had failed him, but unlike some, the Field Marshall was not one to punish his own men to any severe extent. Discipline was gained through trust and respect, not fear and intimidation.

"Find those two." The Field Marshall regarded the mess in their makeshift command post. At least five dead soldiers, and the whole ordeal had been for naught. No Tollan devices, and no information as to where they could be. The armoury down below was a ruin, the result of an explosion no doubt caused by the Earthers. They had to have the devices.

His Commander stormed off, motioning to two of their troops standing nearby to follow. The Field Marshall felt a surge of anger as soon as these three had left, and now alone in the room, he allowed himself to release it. He swept several pieces of equipment off of the table in one agitated swoop, some of the items breaking against the tiled floor. That included the last of their mind probe devices, for all the good they had done him.

How had those humans found out about this place? He knew it had something to do with the Calsharan, the one who had stormed in here and helped free Colonel Sheppard. If he got hold of that meddling alien, he might be able to gain some answers.

Switching on his communicator, he spoke clearly into the small device, little more than a disc that was attached to his left forearm.

"This is the Field Marshall. Double the patrols, scour the town. I want the whole fortress searched. There is a human, an officer from Earth, accompanied by a Calsharan. Find them and bring them to me alive if possible. If not, use whatever force necessary to put an end to them." He could not wait for his soldiers to turn up results on this search. He needed to do something, anything to try and get him closer to what had drawn him here. There were three other prisoners, although without the mind probe he would not be able to gleam much for them. Chances are they would prove just as stubborn as Colonel Sheppard had been.

Among the equipment had been a large crate, constructed out of the same reddish-brown organic material much of their technology was encased in. Such a thing was grown, not manufactured, and programmed to grow to certain specifications depending on the size, shape and function of whatever technology it would house. In this case, it was a very solid container, rectangular in shape, about a metre wide and half a metre across. Walking over to it, the Field Marshall opened the lid, revealing a network of slimy, pink organically-grown cables that snaked outwards from an oblong-shaped object in the centre. This item was distinctly metal in appearance, more in line with Goa'uld technology than his people's own. On the top of it was a small panel, comprised of several buttons marked with symbols from his people's main language, along with a simple display, no larger than his forefinger. He keyed in several buttons, in a specific order, and the display flashed red. A handful of symbols danced across it, arming the weapon. All he had to do now was set the timer. Briefly, he hesitated to do so. They still had to get what they had come for, and once that was done then his people would be free to leave this place behind.

His species preferred to leave as little trace of themselves behind after an operation. The same method of operation had been in place since the early days of his people, when they had first started expanding across the stars, first with the stargates, and then with star-ships. They had subverted and colonised entire worlds, but they had only gone as far as their neighbouring star systems. They were a pragmatic people, and they did not overstretch themselves. Earth had been a foolhardy venture to begin with, but he had accepted it nonetheless. A respectable officer such as him would not turn down a mission assigned to him from his superiors, no matter how dangerous it had seemed. Earth was a danger, his government had thought; the humans there were making themselves known, antagonising more powerful races. At the same time, they had been perfect for subversion. If the stargate program and its resources could have been turned to their own use, then his people would have benefited greatly.

Yet it had all fallen apart. The Field Marshall had ordered an evacuation of his troops as soon as it had become apparent that the humans had figured them out. His own son had been there, serving as his second-in-command; he had been covering the retreat, and had forced him to leave through the stargate amongst the first evacuees. On the other side, the Field Marshall had waited, hoping for his son to come through. He had not, and several other good soldiers had shared his fate. All would have destroyed themselves instead of risking capture.

The Earthers were still in the dark about such events. Their general population was oblivious to the goings-on of those who used the stargates. The Field Marshall had sworn vengeance all those years ago, and now, when he had been so close to gaining the means of carrying it out, he had been met with the very kind of resistance he had not expected. One could not plan for every contingency.

His government had covered up the whole affair. It was a humiliating disaster for those involved, and the Field Marshall had found himself discredited, his rank becoming little more than ceremonial rather than carrying any real authority. There were plenty who still believed in him, still respected him, and they were here on this world with him right now. They were all united in their mission to bring ruin to Earth, and he could trust every last one of them with his life.

He would see this mission through, no matter what it took. And if that included death, he was not afraid. He had long since stopped being concerned with dying, for he had little left to lose. Some would say that one with nothing to lose was the most dangerous of all, and in regards to the Field Marshall, they would very well be right.

* * *

The stargate was, as expected, under heavy guard. A good dozen of the aliens were in the plaza before it, along with some kind of portable turret that had been positioned watching the stargate itself. Both John and Valkas observed this from the house where Bastion had taken them hours before, the same one where the Colonel's contingency plan was located. A dozen alien soldiers, and probably more inside the parked transport ship in the plaza with them. And again, more would probably come running out of the fortress at the first sign of trouble.

Closing the shutters over the upper floor window, John turned to Valkas. The alien's amber eyes were bright in the dim light of the dusty, rundown interior. From the look they held, it seemed apparent that Valkas had a similar opinion of their odds as he did.

"Not good, is it?" Valkas asked. He still wore the pack containing the devices. John put out a hand, gesturing to it.

"Could I take a look at that?" He asked, in return. Valkas nodded, handing over the backpack without protest. John unzipped it, taking a careful examination of the two devices within. He had not seen anything of their like before, and he pulled the smallest one out and held it up to the Calsharan.

"You know what this is?"

"Not really." Valkas gave a light shrug. "But Daniel Jackson said something about it. He said he had seen them before, in the hands of the 'Tollans'."

"Tollans?"

"Yes. I don't know who they are…"

John thought that he had seen the name somewhere before, maybe in some report years ago.

"What does it do?" The device certainly looked unassuming. If anything, it looked like a prop out of _Star Trek_.

"Daniel said it gave the user the ability to pass through solid matter," Valkas explained. "A 'phase-shifter', so to speak. And the other one is a computer, of sorts. Presumably housing all manner of interesting information."

John pressed a few of the obvious buttons on the device, only to become a little disappointed when nothing happened.

"It doesn't work."

"Daniel suggested that whatever powers them could be worn out, or simply lost its charge."

"And there were no batteries in that armoury?" John put the device back into the pack. He handed the whole package to Valkas, despite some minor reservations. The alien had pulled through, saving him from the clutches of the Field Marshall. Still, he had abandoned the team at the stargate, even if such a move had prevented the Field Marshall from getting the devices at that time. Maybe Valkas had seen that coming, or maybe he had had a sudden selfish moment, belying his true intentions. For now, John would have to leave the devices in his hands, if only because the plan forming in his head put the Calsharan onto the path of least resistance.

"No batteries I could discern, Colonel." Valkas slung the pack around his shoulder. "With that in mind, what's your plan?"

"You know this place better than I do." John met the alien's gaze squarely, trying to gauge what kind of soldier he might have been. He had the experience, although John did not know what kind of training he might have gone through. According to the reports, Valkas displayed somewhat greater physical strength and endurance when compared to a human. The Calsharan had pulled through for him so far, so it seemed stupid doubting him now.

"You're going to go find the dungeon where Daniel and the others are being kept," John ordered.

"There must be at least fifty of them between us and that dungeon," Valkas stated. "I'm not saying I'm not game, but I do prefer to avoid suicide missions where possible. They'll be waiting for us now, so the element of surprise isn't going to be much on our side."

"That's why I'm going to create a diversion." John traversed the stairs nearby, with Valkas following behind him. In the larger room below, the six-wheeled rover covered with crates of equipment was situated, undisturbed since they had left it here. "You keep your fancy alien plasma gun. I'm going to work with something a little more familiar."

Valkas nodded his head. He could see where the Colonelw as going with this. John stopped by the rover, and there he popped the lid on the largest of the metal boxes, each one marked with 'Property of the US Marines' in broad, stencilled writing. Inside this box was the M60 machine gun he had seen Bastion put away back at Stargate Command, along with a few spare magazines of the hefty 7.62mm rifle round the gun was chambered for. Each magazine was in a sizeable box configuration, good to hold a chain of one-hundred rounds. Compared to some newer support guns, the M60 was a little old, having seen use as far back as the Vietnam War. However, it was reliable, and that was often what counted the most when it came to firearms.

"Hardly subtle, Colonel." Valkas had a smile in his voice as he said this. John picked up the weighty weapon, grabbing one of the magazines as he did so. He peered down the sights, adjusting them a little, before he attached the magazine and laid the first of the bullets in place within the weapon's receiver.

"We're long past the point of subtlety," John replied. There was a sling on the gun, and he put it over one shoulder, allowing the weapon to hang across his stomach. It was heavier than he probably would have liked, but the weight suggested power in this case, and he could certainly tolerate it with that in mind. He put another of the magazines to his waist, attaching it to his belt via a small clip. The magazine in itself had a good few pounds of weight to it.

He knew his plan was hardly a good one. He was essentially going to ambush the bad guys waiting near the stargate in an effort to create as much noise and destruction as possible, all to draw out more of them and clear Valkas' path to the dungeons. He was putting the lives of his team members and friends (at least in the case of Daniel) in the hands of an alien he still did not trust entirely. There was not much other choice, however.

In another of the crates was a pump-action shotgun, specifically a Remington 870. This had a sling to it as well, for ease of portability. John loaded the weapon with shells, before stuffing several more into a pouch he fitted to a vest he had recovered from another of the crates. Finally, he found an M302 grenade launcher amongst the extra equipment, and he loaded that as well before taking a few spare rounds for it. Shoving them into place on his belt, he adjusted the clips on his vest, his mind set on the task at hand. He might have had a lousy plan, but he would carry it out to his fullest. It was the only real shot they had at getting out of this alive, and they sure could not dial Earth again. Not after what McClintock had done.

"You look like you're ready for war," Valkas remarked.

"Ready to start one, you mean." Just what could they expect from these aliens in the future? Did they have fleets of ships, poised to attack Earth? The Field Marshall had suggested that he was acting outside of the sanction of his superiors, and from that John had discerned that the alien was rogue, and the soldiers he had at his command loyal to him but not acting officially, if such a term could be applied to aliens. Besides, the Field Marshall had started this. John simply intended to put an end to it.

"No point waiting around anymore," John said. "We'll make our move." Positively armed to the teeth, John walked up to the wooden double doors ahead, and there he slowly opened one of them, if only by a crack. Peering through it, he checked the narrow alley outside, glancing both ways before slowly opening the door further. The coast was clear, and he motioned for Valkas to follow.

"Stay close and stay quiet. I want to get as close to those bastards as a I can before I start shooting." The plaza was not far, and the stargate in turn. The pair made their way down the narrow alley at a steady pace, keeping low and sticking to the walls. There were still civilians here, from what John could hear. The occasional shout, in some archaic language, followed by the unmistakable sound of weapons fire as alien soldiers put an end to yet another human life. They were taking no prisoners here, the civilian population not of their concern and more of an inconvenience than anything else.

The pair came upon the murky stream running across the centre of the compound. They climbed down into the smelly water once again, with Valkas making his way for the nearby drainage grate. He turned to John, who was set on heading the other direction.

"This almost feels like a goodbye," Valkas said.

"It won't be." John narrowed his eyes. "Don't start any trouble inside until I've started it out here. I'll get them to clear a way for you, don't you worry."

"Yes, boss." Valkas disappeared into the tunnel, leaving John to carry out his half of the plan. The odds were certainly stacked against the pair of them. Even so, John felt that he had had worse plans in the past. Often times, he had had very little at his disposal, so being as heavily armed as he was certainly made for a welcome change. Colonel Bastion had been smart to have a contingency, even if that contingency was as simple as having more guns lying around.

* * *

Natalia was relaxed a little more now than she had been earlier. Daniel checked her wound, specifically the blood-soaked bandages wrapped around it. He was not medical doctor, but he had been in enough situations like this to know that without proper attention, an infection was likely to set in sooner or later. As it stood, Natalia would not be able to walk, not without help, and the Sergeant herself knew this full well. She had the typical soldier mentality of considering herself a liability, and had the trio been granted an opportunity to escape, she likely would have tried talking him and Joanne into leaving her behind.

Daniel operated on a different line of thought to that. He did not intend on leaving her behind, and he and Joanne would carry her if they had to. For now, they could do little else but wait in the dim light of the dungeon, with only a pail of water for sustenance and even that was dirty and, most likely, not entirely safe to drink. As for Colonel Sheppard, he had not been seen since the aliens had taken him elsewhere after the group had surrendered. What they were doing to him was unlikely to be anything pleasant, and the rather depressing thought that the man could be dead for all they knew came to mind. It was one Daniel did his best to bury for now, as a situation such as this called for more positive thinking.

Joanne was standing by the bars, leaning against the wall where they ended. Her eyes had been set on the corridor outside, and more specifically, the door further ahead. Their way out, if they could get out of this cell to begin with.

"Captain," Daniel said, as he rose to his feet. Arms folded across her chest, Captain Bowers turned around to face him, her expression a mix of frustration and anger. She had not taken well to captivity, no doubt being of a more proactive sort. Being as powerless as she was in here was not doing much for her demeanour.

"We have to get out of here soon," Daniel continued. "The Sergeant's leg could get infected."

"I know, Jackson." Joanne ran a hand through her hair, a frustrated gesture at that. "I damn well know that. But unless you can conjure a key for this door out of thin air, we're kind of stuck. I've looked over every inch of this cell, and I can't see a way out."

"How did Valkas get out?"

"I don't know. That's the one blank in his story." Joanne shook her head. "He could have sweet-talked the guards for all we know."

"But we've got no guards to sweet-talk."

"I don't think I could bring myself to sweet-talk one of those _things_." By 'thing', she meant their captors, the same race of aliens who had taken over the SGC for a short time a good twenty years ago. "Do we know their weaknesses?"

"We know very little about them. Just that they die as easy as us humans, and that they have some very sophisticated holographic technology, as well as technology capable of reading one's thoughts. It was why they were able to get a foothold on Earth in the first place."

"And that whole thing was buried?"

"For the better, I think. It would only give the likes of the IOA more ammunition against the stargate program if they found out about that fiasco."

"If we get out, do you think we could carry her?" Joanne directed her eyes to the very conscious Sergeant, who met her gaze with the clear-cut look in her eyes of someone who knew they were a liability. Yes, even Daniel would admit that she would be difficult to move, but that did not mean they could not _try_.

"Don't waste your time…" Natalia began, but Joanne interrupted her.

"Bullshit. If we're getting out, you're coming with us." She nodded in the general direction of the exit. "What about that sarcophagus? We could heal her in that."

"We wouldn't have the time," Daniel replied. "She could need at least an hour in there, and somehow I don't think our enemies are going to give us that."

"It's worth a shot." Joanne began to pace back-and-forth, not unlike a cheetah at the zoo, pacing its enclosure as it awaited feeding time. And Joanne certainly had the movements of an exotic predatory cat, not to mention the agile frame to go with it. Just from looking at her, Daniel could see that Joanne was the peak of female fitness. Certainly not as muscular as the male soldiers, but strong in her own ways. She had to be, if she was going to last at all in the Air Force. And she was attractive, a fact that Daniel could not entirely ignore. He was staring now, so he opted to turn away as she spun about to face him again.

"If one of those freaks comes down here, I'm jumping him." Joanne stated this in as determined a voice as she could muster, her mind made, and intentions set. Daniel frowned, unable to help but feel that this was one of those bad ideas that only someone as young and reckless as her could come up with.

"You don't know how strong they are," Daniel said, returning her gaze. "Not even_ I_ do. No one really got close enough to find out when we ran into them the first time. They could break your neck with their bare hands."

"I won't let that happen."

"Confidence isn't everything, Captain."

"And what would you have us do?" Joanne scowled at her, her mood souring. Her voice took on a more agitated tone, and Daniel felt that he was well on his way to getting punched in the face. The Captain was on edge, they all were, yet the last thing they needed to do right now was fight amongst themselves.

"We have to wait and see," Daniel replied, in an admittedly feeble manner. "That's all we can do, Captain. And I hate it as much as you do."

Joanne let out a long, drawn-out sigh. She appeared to relax, and the tension left her muscles, to an extent. Her face was still scrunched up into a look of sheer agitation, and she turned her back on Daniel. Again, she returned to watching the outside of the cell, likely waiting for one of the aliens to appear for an opportunity to jump him. She did not admit that Daniel might have been right, in this case, but her lack of response made it apparent that she knew he was. They had no way out, and their captors had to want _something_ from them, eventually.


	18. Turning the Tables

**Turning the Tables**

John was alone now, lying amongst the overgrown weeds and shrubs that lined the edge of the plaza. He peered from around the side of a low, ruined stone wall, his gaze going towards the aliens scattered across the plaza ahead. Their transport was still here, stationary and inactive. Several of the aliens patrolled the perimeter, others milled about the centre and a further handful stood watch at the stargate. One of them manned a large and imposing looking turret of sorts, comprised of the same red-brown organic material that these aliens used for their equipment and technology. All in all, he was one man against many aliens, and had he been twenty years younger he might have appreciated his chances a little better. Still, he had a job to do, and this part of his 'great' plan essentially amounted to killing as many of the bad guys as possible. It was simple, and John did indeed prefer simple, straightforward schemes. He had little chance for a stealthy approach, being in broad daylight as he was, with not a cloud in the sky.

There were a pair of the alien soldiers wandering by now, only a short distance from the wall. John pulled one of the remote charges he had retrieved from Bastion's weapon cache and set it by the wall, before he headed elsewhere. Remaining low and in cover, he worked his way around the edge of the plaza, before coming to one of the statues located on the perimeter. With the explosive's remote detonator in hand, he remained in concealment and pressed the big red button on the device. The blast echoed throughout the fortress, throwing up a plume of fire and smoke that blew apart much of the short wall that had been in its place. Straight away, several of the alien soldiers began to rush for the site of the detonation, now fully alert with their weapons at the ready. And John, sitting just out of sight on their flank, mounted his M60 upon the base of the statue and took aim. There were about five of them, scattered near the site of the explosion, smoke wafting from the crater that had been left behind. They began to spread out in order to search the surrounding area, and it was then that John acted.

Pulling the trigger on the machine gun, it sounded off with a rapid _rack-rack-rack_, spewing rounds downrange that ripped into the group of alien soldiers. Purple blood splattered, bodies twitched and convulsed, and shouts erupted from alien mouths as the first of them were torn to shreds. The high-powered weapon had no trouble ripping through the exoskeleton of these aliens and into the soft flesh underneath, blasting sizeable chunks out of each of them. Here, three of the aliens went down right away, riddled with bleeding holes, and the other two turned in the direction of the incoming fire. John swept the hail of bullets across the both of them, pieces of the alien soldiers flying forth as the rounds tore into them. Dust and dirt kicked up from the stone pavement, as did fragments of masonry as rounds ripped through the hard surface. And then John released the trigger, the barrel of the gun smoking, as he took a few seconds to survey the carnage.

Purple blood pooled around five very dead aliens. The others in the plaza were moving in to meet the newest threat, so John picked up the gun and began to move. He kept low, just out of sight, losing himself amongst the short walls and shrubs that had sprung up along the edge of the plaza. To one side was the tall and imposing perimeter wall, and ahead was the fortress itself, with a ditch running between it and the wall. Said ditch was home to another murky stream and drainage tunnels, overgrown with weeds and covered in algae.

John took up position at a wall running by the front steps of the fortress, nestled at the base and serving as a barrier between the plaza and the drainage channel. As a handful of the alien soldiers made their way across the plaza, John hit them with another barrage of automatic weapons fire. These ones scattered hurriedly, chunks of the stone pavement underfoot being ripped up as John hosed their positions down with machine gun rounds. Two of the aliens were cut to ribbons, their mangled bodies falling abruptly, blood smearing in their wake. Ducking behind the wall, John went to change position once again. If he moved quickly and struck from hiding, carrying out hit-and-run attacks from a different flank each time, he should be able to disorient them. Make one man feel like several.

Jumping the wall, he allowed the M60 to hang down from its sling and against his waist. Letting fly with another volley, he struck down another of the alien soldiers across the plaza, before the first bolts of return weapons fire flew past him. Lowering the gun, he ran behind the tall statue ahead, a cluster of the searing white bolts of energy striking the front of it. Fragments of stone erupted forth, and John leaned around the side tentatively as he regarded the positions of his enemies. A group of them were spread out up ahead, using metal crates and short walls as cover. Another group were running down the front steps of the fortress, crossing exposed ground as they did so. John swivelled about, raising the gun and hitting them with an extended volley. A few of the alien soldiers came tumbling down the steps, bloody splotches being left behind them, exoskeletons cracking as they fell down the steps. The others scattered, returning fire haphazardly. John ducked as one of the bolts struck the statue near his head, showering him with dust and fragments of stone.

His gun empty, John began to reload. He threw aside the empty box magazine, attaching the spare he carried, a somewhat finicky process for a single man to carry out in the heat of a fire-fight. He could hear his enemies communicating, barking commands at each other in their deep, guttural tongue that was incomprehensible to human ears.

They were moving in from his left flank. Two of them, coming from their positions near the stargate. John slammed home the new magazine and the chain of bullets within, priming the weapon with a pull of the charging handle. Standing up, the weapon thundered as he hit the trigger, and he saw both of the alien soldiers stumble and fall as they were torn to shreds by the withering hail of fire. One of them fell in an awkward manner as their left leg was suddenly torn in half by one of the bullets, shearing away below the knee and spurting a geyser of purple blood as it went. John barely had a chance to acknowledge the grisly sight, as he turned his attention to those ahead of him.

He ran around the side of the statue, firing as he went, pounding machine gun rounds in the general direction of his foes. More of them were coming, from the far side of the plaza and even out of the fortress itself. Energy bolts zipped close by as John charged onwards, one of his shots hitting an alien squarely in the head as it peered over a short wall for a look at its enemy. A brief spout of purple blood erupted, before the alien fell behind the wall, whatever remained of its brains seeping out onto the ground.

Sweat trickled down his brow and caused his dirty black tank top to cling to him. His heart was pounding, adrenaline surging, and his eyes darted about as scanned his surroundings for further enemies. And there were more, of course. More than he had been expecting.

John ducked as several energy bolts struck the short wall in front of him. Turning to his right, he saw another pair of them racing down the steps on his flank. They opened fire, with one of the bolts hitting the ground near his foot. The impact was near enough to send heat washing over his leg, and he could have sworn that part of his boot had melted. Nonetheless, he was unscathed, and he returned the gesture by shredding both soldiers as they came running down the steps, bodies tumbling down as they became riddled with blood-seeping holes.

Regardless, he was outnumbered, and they were pressing this advantage. The gun turret positioned by the stargate, some distance away, turned its barrel in his direction. The end of the barrel glowed white hot with power, before blasting out a much larger bolt of white energy with a powerful _thump_. John threw himself to the ground as the wall in front of him exploded, heat and smoke flying up from the impact, pieces of stone falling down all around him. His ears ringing, he quickly rose to his feet, and as he did he unslung the smoking M60 and allowed it to fall to the ground. It was just about out of ammunition anyway, and the weight of it was slowing him down.

Smoke wafted up in front of him, covering his movements, with further energy bolts searing through the cloud errantly as his enemies attempted to score a lucky hit.

He had a cut on his forehead, he realised. Blood trickled down his temple and then his cheek, likely caused by a piece of rock that had scraped him in the explosion. John took the shotgun off of his back, working the pump with one hand. His other settled around the trigger guard, and as he emerged through the smoke cloud he came only metres within one of the advancing alien soldiers.

This one had no chance to make a noise before John blasted it, sending the alien falling backwards with a ragged hole torn through its chest, arms splayed as it hit the ground.

Another one emerged from cover to his right, and John swivelled about to face it, pumping the shotgun quickly before shooting again. This one fell backwards against the stone column behind it, a dark purple trail being left upon its hieroglyphic-infused surface as the alien slumped down upon its length.

Yet, more of them came running. John had certainly done what he had intended, when it came to drawing them out. He could only hope that Valkas made up his end of the plan. With that in mind, John had not planned much farther than rescuing the others, and whether that involved taking the stargate to some safe world, or hijacking a Goa'uld ship, it did not matter. One way or another, they were getting off of this planet, all of them. What few of the original team were left, anyway.

John blasted another alien as it appeared from behind a set of crates ahead. Close to those was the parked transport, and he moved for it, another shot from the mounted turret blasting apart the stone column further behind him. Ducking behind the parked ship, an alien soldier came running out of the open door at the rear, side-arm raised. Presumably some kind of officer, it caught John's attention right away.

"Did you forget your boarding pass?" John said aloud, and promptly blasted the alien, the shotgun working wonders in the close proximity. The alien's head exploded messily, and pieces of exoskeleton and squishy purple chunks of what John presumed to be its brain erupted outwards. Some of it found its way onto John's chest, and here he did his best to ignore the oddly pungent stench of the extra-terrestrial bodily fluids.

Slinging the shotgun over one shoulder, he remained behind the parked transport as further alien soldiers encroached on his position. Bringing forth his M203 grenade launcher, he leaned around the parked transport and took aim, sighting the gun emplacement. Before the alien operating the gun could react, he had sent the single, swollen bullet loaded within the weapon sailing forth at such speeds that it was little more than a small, dark blur. It struck the gun emplacement on the face, detonating on impact. The whole gun went up in flames, the _thump_ of the explosion echoing throughout the entire fortress. There was little left of the alien who had been manning it, and a couple of others who had been standing near it had been tossed aside so easily, like ragdolls.

John swivelled about as two of the aliens came running from around the parked transport. Stowing the grenade launcher, he unslung the shotgun and sent a shot into one of them, sending it falling before the other returned fire. An energy bolt clipped his left arm, the burning pain excruciating. Gritting his teeth, he fired his weapon again through the haze of pain, with the buckshot taking off most of the alien's right arm. It let out a pained howl in its deep, animal-like tones, before John worked the pump on the weapon again. Taking a few steps forwards, he blasted the alien at close quarters, purple blood splattering across his face and chest.

They were surrounding him, which he had expected. With little other choice, and death becoming more and more certain, he began to back up the ramp of the parked transport. Sure, it was likely a one-way ticket, but this mission was beginning to feel like one big dead-end anyway. Maybe it was just his luck, to be given an assignment off-world for the first time in years, only to wind up dead. Still, as long as the others got off of this planet, he would be satisfied. However, he had promised McClintock that he would find him, and John would make sure he would get back to that weaselly bureaucrat, one way or another.

* * *

Valkas had entered the main section of the fortress shortly after the shooting had started. As expected, the guards on patrol here had gone running for the most prominent threat, as John carried out his 'diversion'. Valkas used a maintenance tunnel to get inside this time, and he only had to wait a moment by the door into the fortress itself as a pair of the aliens came jogging past, speaking to one another in their incomprehensible growls, grunts and clicks. He knew his way around this part of the fortress, better than he would have liked to admit. After the two passing soldiers had gone, he ducked out of the maintenance tunnel and made his way down to the opposite end of the corridor. The control centre was further to the right, and the dungeons were far off to the left. Somewhere in-between him and the control centre had been where he had found John, and he had known that room well given that it was where he had been routinely tortured by his Goa'uld captors.

The place was simply under new management now. Valkas went for where he knew the dungeons to be, keeping out of sight of the few guards he found on patrol. This was not difficult, as there were a number of nooks and side-rooms he could use to his advantage, and he found his way to the dungeons with a minimum of trouble getting into his path. The same could not be said for John, as the sounds of weapons fire and explosions could be heard, albeit somewhat muffled, coming from outside. Valkas was surprised at how readily John had elected to throw himself into the fire, but at the end of the day it did in fact make finding the others easier. Valkas had to admit, he admired the man's bravery, even if it did seem incredibly reckless.

Arriving at the dungeon level, Valkas was met by a pair of alien guards. Both went for their weapons as he approached, although he gave them little time to actually bring those guns to bear before shooting the two of them. Both of them fell to the floor, purple blood smearing as one slid down the nearby wall. The door ahead slid open as Valkas approached, revealing a set of stairs leading down into the depths of the fortress. A familiar place for him, as he had spent a fair few days locked up in the damp, dank set of almost medieval dungeons, with nary a trace of sunlight to be found. He had even thought he would die down there, more than once. Fate had presumably other things in mind for him. Instead of dying down there, he could very likely end up dying on ground level in this fortress, which he supposed was a slight improvement.

Going downstairs, he kept his alien blaster rifle raised. There were no more guards, he soon saw, and instead he quickly found himself facing a set of three barred cells, only one of which was occupied. As he entered the room, a familiar face looked to him with somewhat widened eyes.

"Valkas." Joanne sounded positively relieved. "You're the last one I expected to see again." From behind her, Daniel appeared. On the floor by the wall, Valkas saw Natalia, and he noticed right away that she was wounded.

"You thought I ran out on you?" Valkas asked. He stopped by the control panel, giving it a quick examination. The buttons were adorned with Goa'uld symbols, and he had developed a passing familiarity with them. Still, sometimes a more direct approach worked, and with this in mind he turned the alien rifle around. He brought the butt-end of it into the panel, hard. Sparks flew and buttons became dislodged, before the cell door clicked open. Joanne pushed it all the way, freeing herself of the confines of the cell and looking relieved as she did so.

"Isn't that what you did?" Joanne asked him.

"I simply took advantage of the situation. I saw an opportunity to get away, and I took it."

"And you left the rest of us with the bad guys." Joanne frowned, and she took a few steps his way, closing the distance suddenly. "How can we honestly trust you after that?"

"Because I've come back to rescue you." He smiled at her, and despite the harsh exterior she displayed, he saw the traces of a smile on her face, no matter how hard she fought to keep it from showing. She struck Valkas as a strong and confident woman, and in a way she reminded him of some of the Calsharan females he had known in the past, specifically those in the military, before his life had taken a turn for the worse and left him stuck here.

"I have the devices." He showed her the backpack, and Joanne nodded her head, apparently impressed. "It's what these aliens want. They came here for the Tollan devices. That is what John told me, anyway."

"Where is he?" Daniel stepped up to the cell door then, an eyebrow raised inquisitively. "He's still alive, isn't he?"

"Last I checked." Valkas paused for a moment, listening for the sounds of the continued fighting outside. This deep into the fortress, he could not hear anything of the outside. John could very well have been dead, for all he knew. "But he was outside creating a diversion so I could slip in here and get you people. Chances are that diversion's about to wear off." He motioned towards the exit. "We need to leave. There's a hangar at the back of the fortress, which might give us a better chance of escape than a heavily guarded stargate."

"If John's still alive, we need to find him." Joanne sounded determined as she said this, her mind made. Valkas would have no hope of persuading her otherwise, not someone as stubborn as she was. "I'm not going to have him die on my account."

"What about Natalia?" Daniel's voice was laced with concern. Valkas stepped into the cell after him, with Joanne following. Natalia was sitting up against the wall, her face scrunched up with pain. Her left leg looked limp, at least from below the knee, and Valkas could see that the knee was where her wound was. Hardly a good place for it, as she had no hope of walking out of here on her own.

"We'll carry her." Joanne knelt by the Sergeant, locking one arm underneath her own. "Come on, Valkas. You're a big guy. You can help me carry her." She pointed to the backpack he wore. "Hand that off to Daniel."

Daniel and Valkas exchanged looks. Daniel appeared as if he expected the Calsharan to disobey the instructions, but Valkas simply offered the archaeologist a smile and slipped off the backpack. Handing it to Daniel, he proceeded to help Joanne lift the Sergeant to her feet. She grunted as they brought her up, pain working its way up her leg and causing her to wince.

Valkas kept his rifle in his free-hand as they hobbled the Sergeant between him and Joanne. It was hardly practical, but he could understand the desire to save her, no matter what it took. An admirable quality, one his previous commanding officer had been sorely lacking.

"We need to help her," Joanne said, as they worked their way out of the dungeons. "The sarcophagus in the control centre. We can use it to heal her."

Valkas was all too familiar with the Goa'uld sarcophagus, the very one his captor, Hesat, had favoured. More than once he had been 'killed' during torture, only to wake up inside that thing with barely a scratch on him. The Goa'uld were malicious in that way, killing their captives through a variety of entertaining means before simply resurrecting them. Again, less-than-pleasant memories came to the fore, and he did what he could to bury them once more.

"I don't know if we'll get a chance for that…" Valkas began, but again he realised it would be pointless arguing with her. She had her mind set on this diversion, no matter how much danger it would put them in.

"We're going." Joanne's voice was stern, carrying with it a kind of finality. Valkas let out a sigh, but otherwise kept his mouth shut. As they passed the two soldiers he had gunned down on his way here, Daniel picked up the two rifles that had been dropped with them. He handed one to Joanne, before taking the other for himself. For an archaeologist, he seemed to be very capable with firearms.


	19. Spanner in the Works

**Spanner in the Works**

John Sheppard might have just put himself into a very awkward position. Backed into the alien transport, he could hear them outside, running about and speaking to one another with deep, drawn out growls and snarls. Had they seen him enter? Some surely had, yet there had been little other option. He was down to a handful of shotgun shells and his grenade launcher, and the latter was not entirely practical for close quarters use. With the shotgun in hand, he continued into the parked transport. Maybe the aliens would not be so reckless as to damage their own ship? That struck him as wishful thinking. His luck was not likely to be _that_ good.

The walls inside were made of that same organic material the aliens utilised, all reds, browns and even purples, some walls bearing almost visible, narrow purple veins. A subdued glow emanated from panels set near the floors and into the ceilings, lighting of a sort, and at the same time an uneasy indication that maybe, to some extent, this ship was _alive_.

As he ventured further into the alien ship, his nose was met with an increasingly pungent smell, something not unlike ammonia, but tinged with something else, something natural. Salt, he realised. At least, that was what he thought it smelled of. That did not necessarily mean he was about to find a whole lot of the stuff, although these were aliens, and from his experience aliens could do some very, very strange things.

There was a large central room here, fitted with seats and harnesses comprised of the gooey, purple material that the Field Marshall had used to bind him to the torture rack. A troop transport for certain, now vacated. John slowly moved onwards, constantly keeping his head on a swivel as he expected his enemies to come flooding in after him. A door ahead slid open, practically squelching as it slid back into the wall, revealing what he took to be the cockpit. There were two seats here, and a control panel with lights and computer monitors set within the organic shell-like material. The window ahead was, John realised, not so much a 'window' as it was a membrane. A thick, transparent one at that, with a surface that seemed to shift slightly as he neared, as if reacting to his proximity. Looking upon the controls, he saw two glowing bowls attached in front of what he presumed to be the pilot's seat, each one filled with a yellow, gel-like substance. He put a finger to one, perhaps a stupid move on his part, but he needed to work this place out somehow. Weird alien technology aside, he could see no traditional controls one might expect in a ship of this kind. No throttle, no stick, not even one of those Goa'uld control spheres that could be found on their vessels.

The gel-like substance became imbued with a yellow glow as he touched it, and he saw some of the controls activate. Nothing jumped out at him, and he saw that even the seats had that same, membranous appearance as the rest of the ship. With that in mind, his eyes drifted to a visible lever, comprised of stark metal, at the base of the seat at one side. He had a good feeling what that might have been for. As for the gel in the bowls, he supposed that it was a means for the pilot to interface with the ship itself. And despite being alien to this ship, it had reacted to him. Security measures must have been lax when it came to the Field Marshall's people.

He was reminded of the Wraith and their organic technology, first and foremost, just from looking around at the walls and the organic light emanating from some of the panels. This whole ship reminded him of them, and it was not a pleasant reminder to have.

Still, he found the curious melding of organic and stark, cold steel to be an interesting one. It was as if the Field Marshall's species could not decide on which direction to go, having likely mastered both forms of technology to an extent that even humanity had not yet reached. Compared to most, humanity's own star-ships were certainly advanced and functional, but in the end they were a mish-mash of things stolen wholesale from other species. And in the case of at least one vessel, some advanced technology had been _gifted_ to them. Getting it all to work together had been the tricky part, and that was at least all humanity's doing in the end.

He heard a noise then, from somewhere behind him. Spinning around, he raised his shotgun, yet there was no one standing in the doorway as he expected. Instead, he heard the noise again, and it reached his ears as a long, drawn out moan. Like a dying animal, he thought. His eyes went to what he perceived to be as the source: to the right of the doorway that had taken him into the cockpit, he saw another door, somewhat smaller and more incongruous. Approaching it at a slow, cautious pace, John could not help but tense as he came upon it. Unlike the others, it did not open automatically. There was a small panel to the left of it, bearing a handful of glowing, squishy buttons. He pressed a few at random, and one of them must have been the right one, as the door slid open and revealed the kind of sight he had thought to have been long past him.

In his time, he had seen some terrible things. First in Afghanistan, where he had been given the 'opportunity' on more than one occasion to see what horrible things humans were capable of doing to one another, and sometimes on the flimsiest of excuses. And then there had been the Wraith and the kinds of things that they enjoyed doing to the humans they saw as little more than cattle. Being forced to kill his commanding officer after their first encounter with one came to mind, and John was surprised at dredging up that memory now, after so many years of burying such horrors in the deepest recesses of his mind.

What he saw was a Calsharan; at least, it had once been a Calsharan. He recognized the dark scaly skin, albeit on this one it was somewhat lighter and thus greyer when compared to Valkas' skin tone. The eyes on this Calsharan were a bright orange, although they appeared milky, as if mired with cataracts. He was wearing little else than the remnants of a black uniform, leaving much of his torso bare. Suspended on a metal rack not unlike the one John had spent some time stuck to recently, this Calsharan looked to be far beyond worse-for-wear. The Field Marshall, and it had to have been him, had done a number on this alien far and beyond anything John had ever seen before.

Tendrils of gooey, purple organic matter wrapped around the Calsharan's limbs, or what was left of them. Both legs had been severed below the knees, likely to keep him from escaping. His chest had been ripped open, revealing the rib-cage and some of the organs beneath. Further organic tendrils had fused to parts of his organs, and they pulsed with his slow, irregular heartbeat. A less desensitised individual might have been sick at such a sight, but John was no stranger to this sort of thing.

Those tendrils were keeping him alive, John realised. What else could they be for, aside from allowing further torture? He recognized the mind-probe device fitted to the alien's scalp. Unlike his experience with it, his skull had remained intact. Someone had taken the care to remove the top of this Calsharan's skull, revealing the brain underneath, with another tendril having snaked its way into the nervous system.

It was a sorry sight. John was more surprised that he had found another of Valkas' people, on a ship belonging to an entirely different species. There had to be a connection here, but wherever his train of thought was going, it was suddenly broken by the gasp that escaped the alien's mouth. He frowned, leaning forwards a little, unsure of what to make of this victim. And then the gasp came again, except it sounded like a word this time, and John strained to make it out.

"Kill…" The alien's weakened voice trailed off.

"Who are you?" John doubted he would get a decent response from the Calsharan, considering the state it was in.

"Warn them…" The alien's voice took on a bit more strength now, as if he was mustering what little reserves of life he had left in him. "They want…"

"What do they want?" John took a few steps forwards, putting him nearer to the mutilated alien. "These people, the Field Marshall's people, what are they planning? Do you know?"

No answer. The alien's sightless eyes stared ahead, but little other activity could be discerned upon his face. John was about to give up on him, when another gasp escaped the alien's throat. Again, he set his attention solely upon the Calsharan victim.

"Kill me," the alien said. "Finish me." He spoke in low, raspy tones, as if every sound he made hurt his throat. "They know about the armoury."

"Because of you?" It dawned on John that he was looking at the very commanding officer who had left Valkas for dead. And somehow, through some twist of fate, he had ended up in the company of the Field Marshall. "Do you know Valkas?"

The alien's glassy eyes seemed to widen a little, but this was quickly followed by an angered scowl. Letting out a long, drawn-out sigh, the Calsharan slowly shook his head.

"I have…" He trailed off, once again struggling to formulate the words. "Nothing more to say…to you…human…"

"I can get you out of here," John stated. It seemed unlikely, but he was willing to say anything to get some answers out of the mutilated prisoner.

"Finish me…"

John checked his shotgun. He had a handful of shells left at his disposal, and he loaded what few he had left into the weapon. All the while he considered the alien's request, and the questions that had been raised. Somehow, this Calsharan had been captured by the Field Marshall, and in turn, he had been used to find this place. Was that it? Had John worked it out? It still did not explain what the Field Marshall was planning, as he was clearly intending on attacking Earth in some way. Being a renegade, it seemed unlikely he had a fleet at his disposal, so an orbital strike was probably out of the question.

That was why he wanted the phase-shifter. If that device could truly make someone pass through solid matter, then the SGC would not be safe. The iris would be rendered useless, and Earth would be under direct threat. In a way, McClintock and his IOA cronies might have been correct, in considering the stargate a threat. At the same time, it was the only way they had to directly combat these threats.

"I'll put you out of your misery," John said slowly, and as he spoke, he worked the pump on his shotgun. "If that's what you want."

The alien nodded its mangled head, slimy tendrils wobbling around it.

"What was your name?" John asked. He levelled the barrel of the shotgun squarely towards the alien's skull.

"Corasar…"

With that said, John pulled the trigger. He turned his head slightly, as his face was hit with a spray of dark red blood and brain matter. The alien's body, suspended as it was upon the rack, slumped abruptly, the skull mostly gone, replaced with a ragged stump that spurted blood as the heart managed a few more pumps. And then it was still, with nary a twitch to be seen. If John had been in the alien's position, he might have wanted the same thing. The Field Marshall and his friends had done a number on Corasar. John wondered if that was what he had had to look forward to, had he remained in the Field Marshall's custody.

Footsteps echoed from the other end of the ship. He moved to the open door, weapon raised as he heard several sets of heavy footfalls clanking upon the metal floor. More of the aliens were coming, and John sighted the first of them as it appeared in the doorway. Firing, John sent it falling backwards with a ragged hole blown through its chest, purple blood splattering after it. More were coming, and in the confined spaces of the alien transport he would have little chance to fight them off. Low on ammo and ideas, he instead shifted his aim to the control panel by the door. He placed a shot into the panel itself, sparks flying as the panel exploded, and the door into the cockpit slid shut suddenly. John kept his weapon trained on it as he heard more of the Field Marshall's soldiers stop on the other side, thumping against it loudly, the noise reverberating through the rest of the ship.

Now he was trapped. He thought about flying this thing, but one look at the controls told him very little as to the actual intricacies of getting the transport started. Moving to the control panel, he felt a growing sense of frustration as he regarded the buttons and the pair of gel-filled bowls. Behind him, the soldiers on the other side of the door had ceased their thumping. Instead, he could hear them leaving, heavy footfalls echoing back down the hallway.

Why were they leaving? John caught sight of another four of them standing just outside the front of the ship. They were looking right at him, he realised, the lone human on board clearly visible through the membranous cockpit window. One of them, John realised, was the Commander. Bearing a few burns on his exoskeleton, the dark-purple and broad-shouldered alien Commander seemed to be looking straight at the Colonel. Had it been human, John might have seen a look of utter contempt upon its face. As it stood, he could hardly work out what expression it was making. He knew that it was a definitely negative one, naturally.

The three soldiers standing with it raised their weapons and opened fire. John dived to the floor as searing white-hot blaster bolts smashed against the window, leaving burn marks with each impact, the transparent membrane gradually distending with the continued onslaught. The trio kept firing, again and again, working their rifles with a speed reminiscent of a full-automatic machine gun. John put his back against the control panel, shotgun clutched close to his chest as the barrage went on, and finally the membranous cockpit window blew open. Pieces of the strangely rubbery, clear material were scattered about the inside of the cockpit, and the energy bolts followed it, ploughing into the walls around him, blowing holes in the wall panels and sending sparks flying.

Finally, the shooting abruptly stopped. Smoke wafted from the many holes that had been burned into the surrounding walls, not to mention the control panel above John that had been reduced to a smouldering wreck. He slowly rose to his feet, daring a peek over the controls and to the outside.

The Commander was saying something, in its low, chittering, deep tones. Snarls and clicks could be heard, as the clearly unhappy Commander told him what he truly thought of the human Colonel. John kept his head down, considering his options. None of which were appealing, he found, as they nearly all involved him either getting captured or killed. He was about to make a go for the door, the very one he had sealed shut, when something mostly cylindrical and about the size of his head came sailing in through the destroyed cockpit membrane.

It was a deep red-purple in colour, fitted with a row of glowing red lights. A cross of artificial and organically-made technology, it clattered off of the top of the control panel and landed only a metre or so from where John was. He watched it, eyes widening somewhat, as the row of red lights around its central rim blinked constantly, joined with an increasingly rapid beeping tone.

"Shit…" Alien design or not, a bomb was a bomb. The Commander and his soldiers had cleared off, leaving John to his explosive fate. With seconds to spare, John's eyes darted about the cockpit frantically, searching for something, anything he could use to potentially save himself from an untimely, expslovie demise. Maybe it was intuition that caused him to climb into the pilot's seat, or maybe some things were universal when it came to designing aircraft. John's hands scrambled over the controls, searching for the harness or the alien equivalent of one, all the while the bomb rolled slightly, its beeping beginning to increase at such a rate that it was beginning to sound as a continuous tone.

John's hand found the lever by the base of the pilot's seat and pulled. Straight away, purple tendrils snaked their way from out of the seat and wrapped themselves around him, pinning him against the seat in a vice-like grip. Above him, part of the ceiling gave way, and before he knew it something had exploded under him as he found himself, attached to the seat, being propelled into the air like a rocket. Below him, the bomb exploded, the entire front half of the alien transport ship going up in a raging inferno. He could feel the flames reaching for him, the heat washing up after him as he was launched into the light of day, sailing high over the plaza and the fortress.

The seat spun slightly as the alien's equivalent of a parachute suddenly activated, and it was not quite what he expected. Smoking debris flew up high, showering over the plaza. John found himself being enveloped by a kind of gel-like substance that came pouring out of the seat itself, smothering him in a cold layer of slime. Before he could react, his mouth became full of the stuff, and it covered his eyes and just about every inch of him and the seat itself before he started to fall.

He supposed he should have expected something a little different than a parachute. It was lucky, then, that the Field Marshall's species were oxygen-breathers, as the thick layer of fluid that covered him was infused with the gas. John found he could breathe, even though he could not inhale, and instead the air was being fed directly into him through the stuff that had worked its way down his throat. It was likely intended to protect one's self from the vacuum of space, if they had need to eject out there; for him, though, his fall was much shorter. He ended up on the roof of the fortress, some distance from the flaming remains of the alien transport. His impact was absorbed by the thick, clear gel that had covered him, seemingly absorbing much of the force of the landing. Instead, he bounced a short distance, before the tendrils holding him to the chair gave out and sent him flying forwards a few metres. The wind was knocked out of him as he stumbled, covered in the goo.

John had to claw his way out of the gel, coughing up a sizeable portion of the stuff as he writhed about on the roof of the fortress. Dark smoke plumed from where the alien transport had been parked below, in the plaza, with much of it reduced to a blackened crater.

John rose to his feet, practically peeling off globs of the gel in an effort to get himself cleaned up. Looking about the roof, he found that there was a door at the far end, and he started for it, aware that somewhere along the way he had left his shotgun behind. Nonetheless, his grenade launcher was still clipped to his waist, as were the two rounds he had left for it. As he walked, now able to breathe normally, he pulled out the weapon and did what he could to clean it of the slop. Part of him was well aware of how insanely lucky he had just been, another was still unable to quite process what had occurred. As such, he was still a little wobbly on his feet, and he found that he could taste the foul slime in his mouth, and likely would continue to do so for some time to come.

* * *

Valkas and Joanne continued hauling Natalia along. Joanne was panting a little with the exertion, although Valkas, being what he was, seemed unaffected by the added weight between them. Daniel moved ahead, holding one of the alien rifles at the ready as they traversed the corridors to the control centre. John's diversion had apparently worked, as there were very few guards present within the fortress on the way.

Joanne had to envy Valkas, simply because his species was clearly blessed with much greater endurance than her own. He could probably have carried Natalia by himself. Joanne would not force him to do that. She was all about the division of labour, and at least this way they could both keep an arm free and carry a weapon in the unoccupied hand. Around her, she began to recognize the corridors and the rooms they passed, until she was sure of the path they were taking. She knew that it was a foolhardy idea, going into the very heart of the fortress all on the chance they could help Natalia, but enough people had been hurt (and killed) on this mission already. If Joanne could save Natalia, then she would do whatever it took to get it done. Even if it meant going into the figurative lion's den, in this case. Even so, there was a chance these aliens were not using the control centre the same way the previous Goa'uld occupiers had.

They came to the control centre entrance, and here they set Natalia down in the cover of a statue by the wall. Joanne and Valkas joined Daniel by the door, with Valkas working the control panel once they were in position. The doors slid open, and the trio raised their weapons, fingers set on the triggers. However, no enemies awaited them. The place was empty, and even the bodies of the warriors and the Goa'uld they had eliminated earlier had been taken away. These 'foothold' aliens had been kind enough to clean the place up.

Valkas and Joanne took up Natalia again and carried her into the room. Daniel stayed by the door, watching it and their surroundings carefully.

"Let's make this quick," he said. "I don't think we're going to be alone for very long."

Joanne knew he was right. Sooner or later, their enemies would show themselves. If anything, this whole trip back to the control centre struck her as far too easy.

"You look uncertain." Valkas was the one to say this, as they helped Natalia into the control centre. Joanne met his concerned gaze, and she gave a light shrug.

"This whole situation stinks," she said. "So yeah, I look concerned because I feel like we're walking into a trap."

"I always found the best way to determine if you're entering a trap or not is to go right in and spring it," Valkas explained, as they went by the main control terminal. "That's usually the last thing your enemies expect."

Joanne frowned, if only because she was a little confused.

"How does that make sense?" She asked him. "If we spring the trap, isn't that exactly what our enemies want us to do?"

Valkas smiled at her, bearing those pearly white and pointed teeth of his.

"It's one of those things that could go either way," he said, with a hint of amusement. Joanne was still not sure whether to take it as a joke, or as a serious course of action. Before she could decide, Valkas stopped in his tracks. She turned to him again, brow raised.

"What's the matter?" She asked him. He was looking straight ahead, as was Natalia. Following their gazes, she found herself looking upon two of the aliens with their weapons raised. Both had emerged from behind Ra's throne, as if they had been waiting for the group.

Joanne went to raise her own, but another alien emerged from behind the curtains draped over the wall to her left. Shooting a glance behind her, she saw another three in the doorway, the very one they had entered the control centre through. And one of those three was the Field Marshall, judging from his somewhat more elaborately-decorated red-brown exoskeleton.

"You've got to be kidding." She considered shooting, perhaps even taking a shot at the Field Marshall himself. Of course, that would hardly help matters, as she was likely to get shot to pieces for her trouble. That, and she did not want to put the others at risk through carrying out such a desperate action. Surrounded, much like they had been by the stargate earlier that day, Joanne emitted a resigned but very frustrated sigh.

"Drop your weapons." The Field Marshall's synthesized voice sounded out through the control room, and despite its artificial nature it carried with it a stern, authoritative edge. "Or you will all die."

"Sounds like we're all going to die anyway." Valkas muttered this, just loud enough for Natalia and Joanne to hear. As for the latter, she did not feel like dropping her gun, even if they were surrounded. She had already surrendered once to the bad guys today, she did not intend to do it again.

Daniel was set upon by two of the aliens, one of whom yanked the gun out of his grasp before the other snatched his backpack from his shoulder. The Field Marshall put out a hand for the backpack, and Joanne watched with some dismay as his subordinate handed him the pack. Pulling it open, the Field Marshall retrieved the pair of Tollan devices, and for a second there Joanne thought she detected elation from him. Of course, it was near impossible to tell, given just how utterly alien he appeared, with no human-like features to read. He had found what he had come for, and Joanne was already regretting coming to the control centre, even if her intentions had been good.

"You should have left when you had the chance," the Field Marshall stated. He put the devices back inside the pack, before slinging it over his own shoulder. "Instead, you come here, presumably to help your injured comrade." He motioned to the two soldiers standing closest to the sarcophagus. Both of them swivelled about to face it, weapons raised, before letting fly with a short volley from their rifles. Energy bolts struck the Goa'uld sarcophagus, searing through its ornately-decorated exterior, sparks flying and fires starting within. Energy crackled over its form as something important within gave out, and seeing this, Joanne knew right away that there was no salvaging it. Not in any reasonable amount of time, anyway.

The Field Marshall put up a hand, signalling the pair to cease fire. Behind him, two more of his soldiers appeared, and between them they wheeled a large rectangular container, one constructed from the organic material his species favoured. They moved it into the centre of the room, and from where Joanne stood she could see that something spherical and adorned with blinking lights was set in the centre.

"Is that what I think it is?" Joanne asked aloud. Daniel saw it too, and he squirmed against the grasp of the alien who had pinned his arms behind his back.

"They're going to destroy the whole fortress," he said, some shock working its way upon his face. "They'll kill everyone. The civilians in the city…" He turned to face the Field Marshall, and Joanne could hear the passion in his voice. A plea in an attempt to appeal to the Field Marshall's humanity, if such a thing applied to someone as alien as he was. "You can't do this. Those people in the town, they don't deserve to die."

The Field Marshall only turned slightly, barely acknowledging Daniel. It was clear he cared little for the people in the town, and presumably saw them as little more than primitives.

"Your species infests this galaxy like a plague," the Field Marshall said. His artificial voice became laced with a venomous tone, as his hatred came to the fore. "A few thousand dead humans hardly concerns me."

"But you can't…"

"Don't reason with this guy, Daniel." Joanne scowled at the Field Marshall, gun still in her grasp. Yes, she could probably shoot him, one well-placed shot in the head would do it. Yet she would die doing it, not to mention she would likely get Valkas and Natalia hurt as well. The temptation was strong, but she liked to think she was someone with strong willpower, and she instead kept her gun lowered for now.

"What about us?" Valkas was the one to ask this. "You going to kill us too?"

"I haven't decided." The Field Marshall looked about the room, and with another gesture he signalled for most of the soldiers here to fall-in. "The four of you would likely prove useful, for when I shift my attention to Earth."

"Why?" Joanne took a step forwards then, keeping one arm on Natalia to keep her from falling. Right away, the two soldiers behind her took aim at her, but did not fire. They watched her carefully, ready to gun her down at a second's notice. "Why Earth? Why us?"

"Because of my soldiers. Because of my son." The Field Marshall looked right at her, and had he been human, he probably would have been scowling at her. Even so, the black slit that served as his 'eyes' seemed to pierce right into her, and Joanne felt oddly uncomfortable as the glare continued. "I need not explain my reasons to you, Captain. But do know that when I am through with your world, it will never be the same again. Your people are so sure of themselves, policing the galaxy with the Goa'uld now gone. I'll be doing my own people a service by bringing you down."

It was personal, this much was clear. Reasoning with the Field Marshall was out of the question, as his mind was set and personal vendettas were not the sort one could easily be talked out of.

"That's it? All this for revenge?" Daniel sounded a little put-out, as it was clear to even him that there would be no reasoning with the Field Marshall.

"You wouldn't understand, Daniel Jackson." The Field Marshall shook his head.

"Oh, I would." Daniel frowned, and he pointed a finger at the Field Marshall for emphasis. "I understand perfectly, Field Marshall. And I can tell you right now, it won't be worth it. Not in the end. You've already lost some of your people. Do all your soldiers agree with what you're doing?"

"They are all loyal to me. And that is enough." He seemed to pause for a moment, as if thinking over something, before waving a dismissive hand to his subordinates. "Kill the four of them. I need not them, nor their incessant questions."

The Field Marshall turned around and left then, with some of the soldiers following. The bomb, armed and beeping, was left in the middle of the control room. Daniel was thrown to the floor by the alien who had been holding him, whilst the two standing behind Joanne and Valkas stepped forwards. They pulled the two of them away from Natalia, causing the Sergeant to stumble and fall. She let out a pained grunt as she hit the floor, further exacerbating her leg wound. The gun was kicked from Joanne's grasp, and the same happened with Valkas. The four of them were left kneeling on the floor, with the two aliens behind them coming around to the front. Another two moved in from the doorway, and each one took aim at one of the group in preparation for a straight-up execution. Three more of the aliens stood guard near the door.

As for the Field Marshall, he had disappeared, followed by a group of his subordinates. Joanne looked up at her would-be executioner, and she detected nothing from him that might have suggested some amount of empathy. Nothing but a cold detachment, probably trained into him over many years. The same went for the other three, who readied their weapons and took aim. Valkas scowled at them, whilst Joanne could only manage a somewhat resigned expression. After everything, and she was going to get shot and killed as if she were little more than an inconvenience. Honestly, she had always thought that if she was going to die on the job, she would go out in some glorious fashion. At least, that had been before she had come here and seen Bastion and his team get killed in the blaze of glory she had often imagined for herself. And there had been nothing 'glorious' about it.

Still, this was even more perfunctory. Regardless, she looked her would-be executioner right in the eyes and she would make sure to keep up this gaze for however long she could, presumably before the bolt of energy blew her head off.


	20. Impeccable Timing

**Impeccable Timing**

It was a fair walk back to the stargate, out in the plaza. Here, the Field Marshall was met by the sight of one of their transports completely obliterated, its remains pouring a thick column of smoke that wafted high into the air, stark against the brilliant blue sky. Not to mention the numerous bullet holes and other explosive damage that was visible about the plaza, amongst them dark purple bloodstains left by those of his soldiers who had met their ends at the hands of the human known as John Sheppard.

The Commander was out here, waiting with the rest of their own by the stargate. Speaking in his native tongue, the Field Marshall made his displeasure with the way things had gone very clear to his second-in-command. Yet the Commander assured him that John Sheppard had been eliminated, which for his sake, the Field Marshall hoped was true.

"Remain here and wait for the others," the Field Marshall ordered. Nearby, one of his own began to punch in a set of coordinates on the stargate's dial-home device. Chevrons lit up, and the stargate's inner ring began to turn, creaking audibly within its housing. Yet, for the many thousands of years it had existed, it still worked perfectly. The creators of these stargates had worked wonders, and the Field Marshall sometimes pondered what they had been like. Rumours abounded that they had been not dissimilar to humans, but these were rumours that the Field Marshall wrote off upon hearing them. How could anything similar to a human have created these machines, capable of instantaneous travel across entire galaxies and able to withstand the millennia without breaking down? Nothing 'human' could have created such wonders.

"If those within the fortress are not back in ten minutes, go and check on them." The Field Marshall watched as the wormhole within the stargate finally appeared, materialising in a whoosh of unstable blue-white energy. It settled almost immediately into its familiar standing puddle, shimmering blue and not too unlike the waters of his home-world.

The Commander nodded his understanding of the order. The Field Marshall and several of his soldiers followed him to the wormhole, and without preamble they stepped on through, returning to their rendezvous point, ready for the next stages of the Field Marshall's plan. It had been a long time in the making, and a sense of satisfaction washed over him as he stepped into the stargate. Finally, he would follow through with the mission he had been given more than twenty years ago. And once that was done, the memory of his son and of those soldiers who had died on Earth would be properly honoured by his people back home.

* * *

Joanne waited for the coming nothingness that she presumed followed the point of death. She had never believed too fully in an afterlife, but at the same time she was no atheist. For all the mysteries of the universe, not to mention the sheer immensity of it all, there had to be something behind it, surely? If so, then she could only hope to meet that 'something' when she died, which was only a few seconds from occurring.

Whoever or whatever this higher power was, it seemed they would have to wait a little longer to meet Joanne Bowers. Something exploded outside the control room, and Joanne recognized it as the sharp_ thump_ of a grenade. It went off just inside the doorway, knocking aside the three aliens who had been standing guard near there. All three were sent flying several feet, with at least one of them becoming mangled in the blast, an arm and a leg being torn off of its torso and thrown aside. The four standing in front of the group to be executed all spun around to face this new threat, which was perhaps a mistake. Without one of them watching the prisoners, Valkas was able to take advantage of this lapse. He rose to his feet and threw himself against one of the aliens, sending both of them falling to the floor. Now seemed as good a time as any to take action, with Joanne throwing herself against the alien in front of her, sending them both stumbling as she wrapped her arms around it and attempted to grab hold of its weapon.

John Sheppard appeared in the doorway, shrouded in the smoke of the explosion. He marched inside with a grenade launcher in one hand, his clothing looking strangely wet along with his hair. He swept up the rifle of one of the fallen aliens closest to the control centre entrance, before bringing it up to his shoulder. He blasted one of the aliens close to Joanne first, sending it reeling as the energy bolt struck the side of its head and blew away much of its face. Despite this, the alien remained standing, stumbling only a few paces backwards. From its throat came an awful gargling sound, as if choking on its own blood. John shot it again, this time in the chest, putting a hole through it that splattered dark purple blood all over Joanne.

Valkas was on top of the alien he had tackled and was laying into it with a series of cruel punches. Each one carried considerable force behind it, crunching the exoskeleton of the alien's skull, drawing blood from the cracks and its vertical slit for a mouth. Its struggles became weaker, more half-hearted, as its strength rapidly left it. Valkas snatched the alien's rifle from its grip and stood up, turning to the left and blasting the alien on that side at point blank. He fired about three times into its side, splattering purple blood all over his torso, before he pushed the mostly dead alien onto the floor.

Joanne had pushed the alien she was grappling with up against a nearby pillar. She had both hands on its rifle, pushing it such that the barrel pointed off to the side. She delivered a sharp knee-blow into its gut, but the alien hardly flinched, its exoskeleton absorbing much of the strike. Joanne was not blessed with the same kind of strength as Valkas, although she could count on him to roll up and provide a helping hand. The Calsharan simply strode up beside her and punched the troublesome alien in the face, knocking its head back so that it struck the pillar, hard and with a loud _crack!_ Purple blood seeped out from the back of its head, and the alien emitted a pained groan before Valkas punched it again, this time putting a few visible cracks through its skull that oozed purple blood. The struggle ceased as the alien fell unconscious, probably with a fair bit of brain damage for its trouble as well. Joanne pulled the rifle from its grasp, before releasing the alien itself, allowing it to slump down along the pillar and onto the floor.

"Thanks," she said, glancing at Valkas. He offered her a smile, before both of their attentions were diverted to the bomb still ticking away in the middle of the control centre. Daniel was kneeling by it, eyes surveying the controls with an increasingly worried look within them, and on the rest of his face. Both of them ran over to it, with John joining them. The Colonel looked like he had been through a lot recently, bloodied and dirtied and, not to mention, he appeared to be strangely slimy.

"What the hell happened to you?" Joanne asked him.

"Weird alien stuff," John replied. Joanne figured it best to leave it at that. Behind them, Natalia had seated herself against a pillar, alien rifle in her hands as she kept watch on the control centre doorway.

John looked down at Daniel, his brow creasing into a frown.

"Do you know what to do?" He asked him.

"Know?" Daniel looked up. He sounded startled, and a little incredulous. "I'm an archaeologist, not someone from the bomb-squad. This isn't Goa'uld technology, so I can't even read the writing on the controls. I've never seen its like before." He shook his head, and Joanne could see that hope was leaving him quickly. "I don't know where to even start. Anyone?" He looked at the rest of them, eyes moving from one to the other in turn. They settled on Valkas, briefly. "What about you? Do you know how to turn this thing off?"

Valkas shook his head.

"Beats me, Doctor Jackson," Valkas said. Joanne could see that the display on the counter was most definitely ticking down. The symbols that it was working through were alien to her, and to the rest of them. This did not hide the fact that it was, indeedn, a countdown.

"If it goes off, all those people are going to die," Daniel stated. "We can't…"

"Daniel, most of those people are already dead." John sounded sure of this, and Joanne realised that Valkas shared a similarly glum expression. "I was in the town only about an hour ago. They were rounding up those people and shooting them, going door-to-door looking for Valkas and myself."

Daniel appeared resigned then, as the reality of the situation hit him. It was not hard to believe that the Field Marshall and his soldiers had simply killed most of the civilians here. It was certainly not the kind of fate they deserved, as most would have been mere slaves to the Goa'uld, forced to eke out a meagre and primitive existence under the yoke of those false 'gods'. And now that seemingly simple lifestyle had been brought to an unceremonious end by these alien interlopers.

"They're getting rid of any trace of their presence here," John said. "That's all this is for."

"Like they did on Earth," Daniel muttered, his hands roaming the edges of the container the bomb was encased. "They're doing it again, here, but on a larger scale."

"We have to get out of here." John put a reassuring hand to Daniel's shoulder. "The stargate's probably too hot. We could check the hangar. That Goa'uld here had to have some kind of ship."

"We sure as shit can't go back to the SGC," Joanne added. "Not when they won't even open the iris."

"All the more reason to take a ship." Valkas was the one to say this, and he motioned for the others to follow. "As the Colonel said, we need to get out of here. Quickly. I know the way to the hangar, and I do know that there should be at least one Goa'uld bomber in there, along with a complement of death gliders."

"Why didn't you take one of those on your escape the first time around?" Joanne asked. Valkas gave a light shrug of his shoulders in reply.

"Because I got caught trying to do just that." He smirked then, despite the pain that was no doubt associated with the memories of his imprisonment here. "You seem surprised, Joanne. It did take me a few attempts to get out of here. I got lucky the third time around, when I caught the guard-change over at the stargate. Sometimes these things involve a lot of trial and error. How do you think I know this place so well?"

He started for the exit. Joanne went over to Natalia, who looked a little sullen. She was probably lamenting the fact that the one thing present that could have helped her, the sarcophagus, was now a charred, smoking wreck.

"Come on, Sergeant." Joanne helped her up, and Daniel joined her to lend a hand. With the two of them propping up the wounded Sergeant, they started after Valkas and John, who lead the way into the corridor outside. Heading down the familiar length of it, Valkas took them around a corner and down a narrower, longer hallway that seemed to take them all the way to the very rear of the fortress itself. They moved as fast as Natalia's injuries would allow, all the while growing uneasy as the prospect of being incinerated in a large explosion grew more likely with each passing minute. Not only that, but they could hear noises echoing through the fortress behind them; footsteps and voices, snarling, guttural ones that no doubt belonged to their alien foes. Joanne wondered if the Field Marshall had sent someone back to check on what had become of his human (and one Calsharan) foes. If so, they had most certainly come upon the scene that had been left for them instead, their soldiers killed, and the prisoners gone.

Joanne knew she owed John one for that. If he had not come when he did, she and the others would be dead. So far, her opinion of the man had grown into a positive one, and his experience in the field certainly showed. She found herself looking to him for advice on what to do next, watching him and the way he carried himself to get a grasp of just how someone should go about a situation such as the one they had found themselves embroiled in. John had been with the Atlantis expedition from the beginning, and he had most certainly been through an awful lot over in the Pegasus galaxy. Yet, for all the years he had devoted to protecting Earth and fighting alien bad guys, he had been effectively thrown out of the stargate program for his continuing to push a return to the Pegasus galaxy. The man did not like to leave a fight unfinished, and Joanne was much the same way.

They passed through a few open bulkhead doors, likely used to lockdown the fortress in the case of an emergency. From there, Valkas took the group down a flight of steps and through a large set of sliding metal doors that opened onto the vast expanse of a Goa'uld hangar. The fortress, nestled on the edge of a cliff, was constructed such that the hangar opened up atop the cliff-face itself. The hangar doors were wide open, sunlight pouring in, the rays gleaming off of the smooth, bronze coloured surfaces within the hangar itself. The sun was descending to the horizon, as the day came to a close.

A very long day at that, Joanne felt, and she realised that it had been a good many hours since she had last eaten a proper meal. Her rations had been taken when she had been captured, leaving her with little more than a near-empty water canteen and the uniform she wore. She was at least armed now, even if the alien rifle she carried was not a weapon she knew well. There was a setting function on it, she saw, and it currently sat at about half its full charge if the glowing light meter along its side was any indication. She could only wonder what might happen if she turned the switch up all the way…

"There it is." Valkas stopped at the end of a catwalk, that put them above the hangar floor, giving them a clear view of the entire hangar itself. A warm breeze billowed in through the open hangar, drifting in from outside, where the blue sky was turning a little darker. Joanne would be glad to put this place far behind her. As for the ships Valkas had mentioned, they were here; four death gliders were parked on the hangar floor, and they flanked the oval-shaped hulk of a Goa'uld bomber. The term 'bomber', in this case, was a bit of a misnomer; the ship was certainly equipped with a heavy payload, as well as the staff weapon cannons that were also found on death gliders. However, the Goa'uld _alkesh_ could serve as a cargo and troop transport if need be, and there were probably living facilities inside to accommodate crews on longer-lasting voyages. Here and now, it was the team's way out, and their only one at the moment seeing as how Earth had abandoned them. Flying back might take a while, even in hyperspace, but netting a fully-intact Goa'uld bomber would count as a win. It would be something, after everything they had been through.

"Does anyone know how to fly one of those?" Joanne asked aloud. Daniel raised his hand a little, yet even he appeared uncertain.

"I might be able to," he replied. "It shouldn't be much different to a Goa'uld cargo transport."

"Well, now you're our designated pilot." Joanne started along the catwalk, towards the stairs further ahead. However, she stopped as the sounds of boots clanking upon metal came echoing from the corridor behind them. More than one set of rapid footfalls at that, and all eyes went to the corridor and the group of armed alien soldiers storming down it. Joanne, upon seeing them, supposed that she should not have been so surprised. Her luck had been particularly poor as of late, and now, with escape within their reach, they had to be met with yet more trouble.

"Get the ship started," John ordered. He brought his alien rifle to bear as he turned his gaze to the aliens rushing down the corridor. "I'll slow them down. Valkas will too, won't you, Valkas?" The look he gave the Calsharan said something along the lines of 'stay here and fight, or I'll shoot you myself'. Valkas got the message right away, and he offered the Colonel a friendly smile, as if to show that there were no hard feelings to be had.

Daniel and Joanne were left to carry Natalia down the catwalk and onto the hangar floor. Behind them, John and Valkas opened fire on the incoming alien foes.

* * *

There were about four of the alien soldiers, John saw; they filed down the corridor with purpose, having presumably deducted where the group had gone. Unable to defuse the bomb and with the stargate guarded, the hangar had been the only suitable option for escape. Instead of these aliens escaping the impending destruction, they had instead been sent here to put an end to those humans who had put such a serious crimp into their plans. They were plans that John was still trying to work out, but what he did know was that they most certainly spelled trouble for Earth and the human race in general.

John crouched down on the catwalk, with the railing in front of him. Valkas was a short distance to his left, taking up a similar position. Both of them opened fire with the alien rifles they had salvaged from those who had been killed in the control centre, laying down a successive volley of white energy bolts. The aliens in the hallway scattered, ducking into doorways and alcoves before returning fire. Sparks flew as bolts slammed into the side of the gangway, and John stumbled slightly as a handful of them flew up into his face. As he recovered, he motioned for Valkas to fall-back, and that he did. The pair made a fighting retreat, sending shots at the encroaching group of aliens as they moved further back down the catwalk.

Behind them, Daniel, Joanne and Natalia were just getting on board the Goa'uld bomber. At least in that, they would be somewhat safe. All John and Valkas had to do was buy a little time, and even that was running out, with the bomb elsewhere ticking down to some unknown point. Would the Field Marshall send his soldiers here knowing they might be killed in the explosion? Somehow, John suspected that the Field Marshall would do just that, and then some. He had a serious grudge against humans in general, and such personal grievances could impair one's usual ability at an objective command.

John blasted one of the aliens as it stepped onto the catwalk, now above him as he and Valkas backed off down the stairs that descended to the hangar floor. The alien stumbled, purple blood spurting out of the smoking hole that had been shot through its chest. It keeled over and fell head-first off of the catwalk, before hitting the solid floor below with a loud _thump_, cracking open its oddly crustacean shell-like skull upon the bronze-metal floor.

Another one of them followed, firing its rifle rapidly. John ducked as energy bolts slammed into the railings of the stairs, sparks flying, smoke exploding forth as metal melted instantly. He felt some of the molten metal splash onto his combat pants, burning through the material rapidly before searing his skin. He grunted, as the heat subsided within seconds, leaving him with some black marks on one leg along with a few new holes to add to his overall outfit.

The alien above them moved along the catwalk, keeping to the high-ground as it continued shooting. Valkas was the one who finally took it down, sending an energy bolt into its chest. The alien fell over, its life leaving its body suddenly, causing it to slump awkwardly against the railing.

Now on the hangar floor, John and Valkas started running for the Goa'uld bomber. Through the cockpit window, John could just make out Daniel at the controls, an uncertain grimace on his face as he attempted to remember how it all worked. It would have been years since Daniel had last been at the helm of a Goa'uld ship, whereas John on the other hand had never needed to fly one. Puddle jumpers, sure, but they were a different beast entirely. Give him an F-302 any day of the week and he would be right at home.

Two more of the aliens took position up on the catwalk and opened fire. John threw himself behind one of the parked death gliders as their weapons fire hit the floor close to him, searing holes into the metal surface. Valkas ducked behind a set of metal containers as the alien gunmen continued to pour on the fire, doing what they could to pin the pair down. John remained behind the death glider for a further moment, giving his alien rifle a once-over. He had no real idea how it worked, or if it even needed to be reloaded. He did take note of the charge adjuster, and it was here that seemed as good an opportunity as any to put the weapon to its fullest charge. As it turned the dial, he heard the weapon emit a high-pitched whine as further energy channelled itself down the barrel, causing the normally subdued blue-white light within to grow far more intense. It even began to vibrate in his grasp, and he could feel the heat emanating off of the barrel and onto his hands. The whole thing felt as if it was about to explode, and he wondered then just what kind of power he could expect when he actually pulled the trigger.

The two up on the catwalk continued shooting. Behind John and Valkas, the engines of the Goa'uld bomber came to life, sending out a loud, continuous whine, backgrounded by a lower rumble. John watched the catwalk from behind the death glider, and he recognized the next alien who appeared straight away: The Commander strode into view, making his way for the stairs with his rifle raised, spewing forth searing bolts of energy. John ducked as a few of these bolts shot past him, striking the floor nearby.

As the Commander descended the steps, he paused in his shooting, if only briefly. John leaned around the side of the death glider and took aim at the two aliens still on the catwalk. Pulling the trigger, he felt the weapon buckle in his grip with enough force to knock him backwards. John fell on his backside as a bolt of searing blue-white energy lanced through the air, leaving in its wake a glowing white vapour trail that began to rapidly dissipate. The bolt struck the catwalk where the two alien soldiers were, and there followed a flash of white flame that enveloped the both of them. The catwalk itself was sheared away, sending a large section of it falling from where it had been suspended from the ceiling. Both aliens had been vaporized in the blast, little more than small blackened fragments left behind, with a cloud of ash blossoming forth from the heart of the explosion. Metal had been melted and scorched, and this particular section of the catwalk hit the floor ahead with a loud _crash_, pieces of metal scattering from the fall.

John did a double-take at the sight of the damage. Rising back onto his feet, he regarded the rifle in his hands, only to notice that the barrel was pouring black smoke and the stench of something burning, something metal tinged with something that smelled more natural, hit his nostrils with some force. He tossed aside the weapon, now that it had been rendered useless by the overcharged shot. Ahead, the Commander had stumbled somewhat from the force of the nearby explosion, but he had since gathered his composure before setting his sights upon John.

The Goa'uld bomber had began to descend, the landing legs retracting as Daniel worked the controls tentatively, unsure of himself in the unfamiliar ship. Nonetheless, he managed to spin the vessel around, now that it hovered about a metre off of the floor. This put the boarding ramp behind John and Valkas, and the latter began to make his way for it, not bothering to wait for John to give the order. Valkas had made up his mind, and he intended to get as far away from this place as he possibly could.

John, on the other hand, did not want to leave this loose end behind. The Commander marched forwards, firing a few errant shots at Valkas as he raced up the bomber's boarding ramp. John found that he was down to only his grenade launcher and the one explosive round he had for it. With the alien Commander pouring weapons fire in his direction, John felt that it would be rude to not give the Commander something similar in turn. Remaining crouched behind the death glider, John pulled the launcher from his waist and slid home the one shell he had left for it. He could almost detect the Commander's confidence, the way in which he strode forwards with his rifle firing.

Joanne appeared on the boarding ramp then, alien rifle in her grasp.

"Come on, Colonel!" She shouted. Several blaster bolts zipped her way, striking the ramp and the wall behind her, sending sparks flying. This essentially forced her back inside as the Commander continued to fire her way.

John readied the launcher as he stepped out from behind the glider. The alien Commander, momentarily distracted by Joanne, did not see him right away. This was something John rectified, if only for his own satisfaction.

"Consider this a farewell gift!"

Before the alien Commander could do more than turn his way, John pulled the trigger. The launcher kicked slightly in his grasp, before the Commander disappeared into a flash of fire and smoke. The explosion was sudden and abrupt, blowing the alien Commander into numerous fleshy, and mostly charred, pieces. Purple blood splattered every which way, and one of the Commander's deep purple arms came flying past John, trailing a ragged fleshy end behind it from where it had been torn from the rest of the alien's torso.

Taking a breath, John allowed himself to relax. They were in the clear, surely? Behind him, the Goa'uld bomber continued to hover. Joanne reappeared on the boarding ramp, eyes settling upon him.

"Colonel?" She asked, getting his attention. John turned to her, realising that he had become a bit caught up in the fighting. They were wasting time they did not have, so John rushed for the ramp and jumped onto it. Joanne grabbed him by the arm, helping him up, before she shouted back down the length of the ship.

"Let's go!" She released her grasp on John before she started back down the central corridor. Daniel must have heard her, as John felt a slight lurch as the ship blasted forwards, picking up speed at a rate no conventional Earth aircraft would have been able to achieve. Behind them, the hangar opening quickly fell into the distance, as did the fortress as a whole. Daniel sent them up on a gradual ascent, and as John remained standing in the cargo hold of the alkesh, the rear ramp began to raise, slowly closing them off from the outside world.

After all that, John felt a little odd that they were now leaving that place behind. Sure, it had only been about two days since they had left Earth and come here, but it felt longer than that. It was as if a whole military career's worth of bad things had happened in those two days, from the loss of a whole squad to his capture and torture. Seeing that fortress disappear behind them at the rate they were going, John felt relieved. More so than he had in a long time. His life, in recent years, had been fairly uneventful. Trust all the bad stuff to hit him all at once.

John made his way through the familiarly-designed Goa'uld-made corridors, all bronze metals and glazed surfaces. The interior of the bomber was a little cramped, if only to make room for whatever payload was being carried. The cockpit was at the opposite end, where the central corridor ended at a set of currently open doors. Daniel and Joanne were here, as was Valkas. The Calsharan offered the Colonel a smile as he walked in, standing off to one side of the main controls. Daniel was seated at the pilot's terminal, with Joanne leaning back against the co-pilot's chair. In front of them was a glass viewport, no doubt of the thick and sturdy variety, not to mention the protective energy shields that enveloped the whole ship. These bombers were known to be imposing opponents in a fight, at least from what John had read.

Through the viewport, the blue sky of Ra's private planet began to give way to the much blacker expanse of space. John looked about the oddly spacious cockpit, his gaze being drawn to a doorway to the left, which opened into a smaller adjoining room. Natalia was lying against the wall inside, flanked by Goa'uld-made shipping crates. She appeared sullen, not to mention exhausted. An understandable state, for someone in her condition.

"Are we clear of the planet?" John asked, as he returned his attention to Daniel. The archaeologist nodded, before he turned about in his chair to face him.

"Once we're out of the gravity well, we'll jump into hyperspace," Daniel said. He was sweating and dirtied, like they all were. None of them had had a proper rest since this whole ordeal had started, and all of them were reeling from much of what had occurred. Not to mention the many unanswered questions that they all had on their minds.

"Where are we going to go?" Joanne sounded tired, and she rubbed her eyes with a thumb and forefinger. John had to admit, they were far filthier than he had originally thought. Not to mention the smell wafting off of each of them, a crude mix of raw sewerage, sweat and blood.

"You think we can go back to Earth?" Joanne added. She was looking straight into John's eyes now, likely expecting him to have a better idea on the matter. He did have experience with this kind of craziness after all, but then again so did Daniel. "They left us to die back there. We go back to Earth and McClintock might lock us up."

"Set a course for Earth, Daniel." John had no intention of letting that weaselly bureaucrat get away with what he had done. No matter his reasoning, it had always been an integral part of the stargate program that no one was left behind. Rescue missions had been launched for less, and no SG team had ever been left behind to fall into the hands of an alien enemy.

"You planning on punching out McClintock?" Joanne asked him. She had probably seen it in his eyes, the clear intent he held for the man who had stranded them. "Because if you are, I'll happily join in."


	21. Pieces of the Puzzle

**Part Two  
****Cultural Exchange**

**Pieces of the Puzzle**

On an unspecified world in a remote corner of the Milky Way galaxy, a cluster of four-legged creatures with long snouts, squat tails and small black eyes grazed quietly on a grassy meadow. The whoosh of an activating stargate startled the bunch of them, as they were cast in the blue light of a stabilising vortex. Scattering in fright, the odd alien creatures darted off, making chittering noises as they went.

Nearby, a cluster of reddish-brown, mostly dome-shaped structures had been erected, and patrolling the perimeter of this makeshift compound were a number of the red-brown, even purple aliens that had once successfully infiltrated Stargate Command. The compound was large, home to many of these alien soldiers, along with a few of their transport ships and numerous large shipping containers of their own design. Those, in turn, housed all manner of equipment and supplies, enough to feed a small army. And a small army was exactly what was present here, although the term 'small' was perhaps relative. Still, there were enough armed alien soldiers present to be a serious threat to any civilised world, and there was one world in particular that had been placed at the most risk because of recent events.

The stargate was situated by a meadow at the edge of the compound, standing upon an ancient stone platform, likely the same one that had been in place since this world was first seeded with a stargate. Above, the sky was overcast, heralding the gloomy weather to come. From within the wormhole emerged the Field Marshall, and he was followed by about a dozen of his soldiers. In one hand, he carried the backpack containing the devices; at his waist, he wore a side-arm, similar in design to their standard-issue energy rifles but on a much smaller scale. The two soldiers standing guard by the stargate stood to attention, and as the Field Marshall stepped into the compound, the soldiers on patrol nearby also stopped and snapped into an attentive pose.

As the last of his squad emerged from the wormhole, the stargate deactivated. The Field Marshall expected his second-in-command to return soon, but for now he had certain matters to attend to. Underfoot, the grass gave way to dirt and gravel, and his booted feet crunched upon it with each step he took as he worked his way towards the centre of the compound. This planet was simply a staging ground, it was far from their home-world and a little-known world at that. Despite the presence of a stargate, there was no settlement of any kind here; upon searching the region after they had first arrived, his people had uncovered the ruins of an ancient village not far from the stargate, but actual living people had been absent. Even the stargate itself had been overgrown with weeds and vines, something that his soldiers had seen to clean up. This planet was no more than a forgotten footnote in some old database, one that the Field Marshall had sifted through shortly before he had broken away from the home-world.

In the centre of the compound was a large prefab dome structure, a command centre of sorts. The door slid open as he approached, and inside the temperature was set at something comfortably warm, more so than what any human would have been used to. The first room was indeed a command centre, complete with computer terminals and communications devices set about the place. A holographic map floated in the centre, projected from a disc set onto a small brown container. Like the material these prefab structures were made from, much of their technology was fitted inside the same kind of exterior, protective shells. All grown to size for specific purposes, his people had mastered organic technology many centuries before. Even so, it was still practical to rely on more artificial constructs such as steel and crystal-based circuitry (not too unlike what the Goa'uld used).

To the left, a short corridor went to his living quarters and amenities. To his right, a corridor took him into another set of living quarters, albeit these ones were constructed a little differently to the others. Passing through a secure door guarded by two soldiers, the Field Marshall entered a large room that served as a set of living quarters and a laboratory of sorts, packed with shelves and all manner of scrap technology that had been salvaged from all over the galaxy. Goa'uld, Asgrad and of course human (whether it be those from Earth or elsewhere), the shelves and cabinets inside were absolutely brimming with it. Not much of the stuff was of any real use in the broken-up, incomplete states it could be found in here, such was the nature of salvage. In the corner, a bed, one of distinctly human design, was located. And then there was the central work desk, currently occupied by a single human male of advanced age, clothed in a grey tunic that was wrinkled and faded. Much the same could be said of the human wearing the clothing, in the way that he was skinny, unkempt, with hair that was long and grey with little to no grooming done to it.

The human male was deeply focussed on the scrap piece of circuitry before him. The Field Marshall recognized it as a piece that had been picked up from a human-inhabited world where they fitted their children with nanites capable of enhancing their mental abilities tenfold. Such technology might have been helpful to the Field Marshall's people, if it could be properly reverse engineered. The pieces they had recovered were unlikely to net many results, certainly not in a reasonable time and not with this human working on it.

The human man hardly looked up as the Field Marshall entered the room, despite the alien's heavy footfalls and audible breathing. He was far too engrossed in his work, whatever it was. Of course, the Field Marshall knew full well that he was more than likely ignoring him for as long as he could. Their relationship was far from positive, and the Field Marshall himself had never been fond of lowering himself to accepting human assistance. However, this particular human was a little more unique, if only because of the planet he hailed from (and in this case, it was one far from Earth).

The Field Marshall sidled up to the workbench and unceremoniously plunked the backpack upon it. The Tollan phase-shifter fell out of its open flap, and the human male's eyes flitted over to it noticeably. A look of recognition crossed his face. The Field Marshall might have smiled then, had he been human. Instead, he settled his gaze upon the human male and clicked his mandibles, more of a thoughtful expression than anything else.

"You recognize it?" The Field Marshall asked him. With one hand, he picked up the strangely lightweight device and held it up to the light. "Because you should. Your own people made these, and they are by far a tremendous feat of technological sophistication." The Field Marshall used his other hand to pull out the Tollan-made personal computer, it being only slightly larger than the phase-shifter. "And this as well. I understand that such a device should contain all that you need to know in order to give me what I want."

The human put aside the circuitry he had been fiddling with, before he put out a hand and met the Field Marshall's gaze with very world-weary blue-grey eyes. This was a man who was tired of the world around him, perhaps even the galaxy as a whole. The Field Marshall handed him the phase-shifter, keeping a careful watch on him as he gave the device a careful examination. He ran his fingers along the control pad, tapping at some of the inert coloured buttons. None of them worked, of course. These devices had been thoroughly deactivated, and it was perhaps no surprise that Ra had stored them away for a later date, as not even a Goa'uld System Lord would have been able to determine the exact nature of this technology.

"Their power sources have been disabled," the human said. He put the phase-shifter down upon the desk in front of him, and he rubbed his eyes with the back of one hand.

"And that is why you are here, Faroc." The Field Marshall stepped a little closer to the ageing Tollan, looking right into the man's eyes. "I didn't save you from your miserable life on the run just so you could fiddle with the useless pieces of junk you have around you. These items are of your people, and I expect you to be able to get them in working order within a reasonable timeframe. That is surely not too much to ask?"

There had been a time when Faroc, scientist of the Tollan people, might have protested the Field Marshall's demands of him. However, more than one beating and the odd session with the mind probe had persuaded the man otherwise. At the same time, the Field Marshall knew that they could no longer probe his mind without risking damaging it, and a damaged mind would be of no help here. As it stood, the more conventional means of 'persuasion' were sometimes required. This was not such a troublesome prospect now that Faroc himself was a broken man. With his family gone, and his people wiped out, Faroc had little else to live for but his work. And the Field Marshall had given him plenty of opportunity to carry out that work.

"It will take some time," Faroc said, his voice low, only just above a whisper in terms of volume. He looked down at his workbench, staring at the defunct phase-shifter. It was as if he was pondering everything it meant, the implications that finding such a device brought along. And perhaps, someone deep inside his brilliant, but emotionally-damaged mind, there was some semblance of doubt. Faroc knew what helping the Field Marshall and his people could bring, yet it was all he could do short of killing himself. And he had no desire to die, no matter how empty his life had become.

"Give me a list of all the materials you need." The Field Marshall knew that, for all of the human's troubles, he could still be relied on to get the work done. "And I want you to create detailed blueprints of these devices. I want to know how they work, right down to every single diode, crystal or nano-circuit."

Faroc did not reply. Instead, he kept staring at the device, as if he expected it to jump into life on its own.

"Do not be so put-out," the Field Marshall continued, with some amusement in his voice. "By making more of these devices, you will be helping me on a righteous crusade. Not to mention I can grant you more of those stimulant drugs you are so fond of."

Faroc glanced up at this then, if only briefly. The man had developed an addiction to certain chemical concoctions that the Field Marshall may, or may not have, introduced to him forcibly when they had first found him. If anything, it was the stimulants and the work that kept this human going, if not a slight touch of self-loathing to go with it. What satisfied the Field Marshall the most, however, was knowing full well that he had this Tollan scientist completely under his control.

"Give me a few days," Faroc said, after a long pause. "I can give you what you want."

"And for your sake, Faroc, I hope you do just that." The Field Marshall turned and left the room then, leaving the man to his devices.

* * *

The Field Marshall's quarters were modest and sparse. His species did not favour the sorts of beds that the humans did; rather, they used sleeping pods comprised of the organic material that made up much of their technology. The pods themselves were capable of some minor rejuvenation properties, just nothing to the extremes of a Goa'uld sarcophagus (and nothing dangerously addictive, either).

There was one personal touch in the room, and it was here that the Field Marshall stood. A small shrine of sorts, comprised of a pedestal built from a glazed black ore that was rare on their home-world, and as such, very expensive. Set upon the pedestal, at waist-height, was a small pendant. Gold, with a red crystal set in the centre. His son had made it for him when he had come of age. To either side, a pair of red candles that burned blue flame and emanated a sweet, flowery smell that was a close approximation to what one might detect in the public gardens back home.

"I am close," he said in his native tongue, his voice low, his attention set on the pendant. "So close now. Your memory will not be left forgotten, not for much longer."

He had had three sons and one daughter; it had been his eldest son he had been lost during that failed incursion. As for the others, they had all gone their own ways. The sons into the military, the daughter into more domestic-related lines of work. And all of them would see him as the disgraced officer he was officially considered; the incursion to Earth had practically ended his life in the military, yet there were still many of his people who followed him. Others who had joined him because of what he had proposed, and even though it had taken many orbits of their home-world around their binary stars, they were on the verge of finally seeing it through.

Information he had gathered from all manner of sources regarding Earth and its people was scattered about the room, specifically upon the desk in the corner and the central table. Maps, electronic and physical, as well as small personal computers of varying makes and models from several different worlds and peoples. He had scoured the galaxy for knowledge of Earth and the humans who hailed from it; the 'first world', as it was known, for Earth was where the species had originated from. A world forgotten, until the humans of the first world had ventured forth through the stargate and made a name for themselves as interlopers of the highest calibre. In such a short amount of time, they had propelled themselves into the position of a genuine galactic superpower. All the while the Field Marshall's own people wallowed on a world that was not of their own to begin with, forced there because their original home-world had started to die.

These humans of the first world, they had become too powerful. They had killed his son, his soldiers and had ruined his life. And they continued to spread their influence and advance themselves using technology not of their own devising. The Field Marshall was more than happy to do the same, if it meant getting ahead of them. Faroc had been a lucky find, one that the Field Marshall had gone to some lengths to keep secret from his people's government. Had they known he had a human with such technological knowledge at his disposal, they surely would have come for him.

The door of his quarters slid open then. One of the other officers under his command, a tall and slimly-built one of their species, walked inside and offered his superior a curt salute. His exoskeleton was a deep red in colour, the biomechanical suit he wore coloured such that it matched his overall shell-tone. Silver trimmings lined the shoulders and chest, denoting him as an 'Executor', one of the highest field ranks within their people's military. He had been left in charge of the camp here, while the Field Marshall had gone to Ra's fortress. In his typical fashion, the Executor seemed stern.

"Bad news, Executor?" The Field Marshall asked him, as he spun around to face his visitor.

"The Commander and his squad are well overdue," the Executor replied. "They would have perished in the explosion by now."

"Then it is no matter," the Field Marshall replied. "He knew the risks, we all did. His failure to escape in time is something we can do very little about now."

"What of the humans there? The ones you reported to us? Those from Earth?"

"Dead or alive, they can do little." The Field Marshall could not bring himself to be overly concerned with that group. Colonel Sheppard and his friends had proven themselves able fighters, but in the end they knew very little about what the Field Marshall intended. They were of no real threat, and that was _if_ they had even got away. If the Commander had not killed them, then the bomb surely had.

"What they did was not 'little', Field Marshall. They killed a large portion of your soldiers. We lost too many on that venture…"

"There are still many loyal to us here, Executor. All of them are willing to die for the cause. And there are even more back home, who believe in what we are doing." The Field Marshall walked over to the central table, where the personal palm-sized computers were located, amongst the physical paper documents that he had located on other worlds, most of which had been technologically inferior.

"How can you be so certain?" The Executor seemed to swallow his words then, aware that he was speaking out of turn. The Field Marshall met his gaze, the Executor's mandibles twitching involuntarily in return. Unlike some, the Field Marshall was not one to beat someone for insubordination, and he respected the Executor enough for it to not even cross his mind.

"You concern yourself over a government that has proven itself ineffective time and again. You agreed to this mission, along with all the others here, because you saw how useless they had become. We are out here, doing what must be done, for the good of our people. And when we go home as victors, we will use our newfound support to topple that useless ruling council." The Field Marshall had it all figured out; he had had years to piece it all together.

"I am more concerned about you, Field Marshall." The Executor's voice became toned with concern, not to mention the scent coming off of him suggested some anxiety. "I fear that you may be allowing your personal feelings to impair your objectivity."

"Objectivity?" The Field Marshall shook his head slowly. "I have all the objectivity I need, Executor. Remember that if it were not for me, you would still be in prison back home? Keep that in mind, the next time you become 'concerned' with my wellbeing." The Field Marshall allowed some level of threat to seep into his voice, and the Executor's demeanour immediately changed. He had been in prison, that much was true, a disgraced officer whom the Field Marshall had worked with in the past. Unlike the Field Marshall, the Executor's crimes were a little more extensive than simply failing a mission. The Field Marshall had used what influence he had to get the officer released, as he had needed a reliable second-in-command. Where the Commander had been more or less a thug, the Executor had a little more sense beyond simply using force to remove a problem.

"You brought me along to serve as your second-in-command. And as part of that position, I am to voice any concerns I might have regarding your command. You cannot fault me for carrying out my role."

"Yes, that may be true. But do also remember that this is no official mission. We are operating outside of normal channels, Executor. This is no council-sanctioned mission." The Field Marshall glanced down at the documents scattered about the table, among them notes about the world of Earth. Some of this had been gleamed from the first mission there, other information had been gathered from a variety of sources scattered around the galaxy. Then there were the more recent handheld computers of Goa'uld design, containing all manner of information about the human home-world. These were, in the Field Marshall's view, the most comprehensive sources he had received. As it had turned out, he had some unexpected allies when it came to his crusade against the people of Earth.

"I could shoot you right now, Executor, for any reason I please." The Field Marshall stated this matter-of-factly, only offering the Executor a quick glance as he spoke. "I would be well within my power to do so. Of course, I would never do such a thing, as that would be a waste of an able-bodied officer. I simply wish to remind you of the kind of mission we are undertaking here, and that you would do well to choose your words better in future."

The Executor straightened up then, his neck muscles tensing.

"Of course, Field Marshall. I apologise for any offence I might have caused." He meant what he said, and the Field Marshall nodded in acknowledgement. He could not afford to have anyone under his command doubting him, no matter what. Not at this stage of the mission.

"When can we expect the human to provide us with what we need?" The Executor asked, getting back on topic.

"A few days, at least. A bit longer, I expect, if we are to fabricate multiple devices." The Field Marshall regarded the documents on the table, and he picked up one of the Goa'uld data-pads. With a flick of the small polished stone that sat on the screen, it switched on over to the next section of information.

"Can we trust our contact on Earth?"

"No." The Field Marshall flicked over to the next display, reading what was written carefully. "I expect they will betray us. Which is why we will betray them first." A simple solution to a simple problem. Why complicate matters anymore than they had to be?


	22. The Long Game

**The Long Game  
**March 30th, 2022

Things had changed, that much was clear. General Janssen had been around long enough to remember how things were before the world had fallen into a sorrier state, yet with that in mind he had to admit that even when he was young, things had been far from 'great'. Always some problem somewhere in the world, no matter the time. He knew that back in the good old days, the stargate program had been considered an important cornerstone of humanity's attempts to reach for the stars. Even if it remained confidential to the highest level, there was something to be said for what it represented. The advances they had made since its inception were proof of this, although by this point, Janssen could see how continuing to keep it secret was beginning to get a little prohibitive.

He had assumed that McClintock had been sent to the SGC to wrangle full control of the program from the military. Janssen had also assumed that such attempts would not be made for some time to come. So, what had happened some days ago, when McClintock had barred the away team from returning from Ra's fortress, had taken him by surprise. He could never condone leaving people behind, and he had spent the last few days trying all manner of avenues to try and get McClintock removed. No one in the Air Force had been able to help him, and those at Homeworld Command had not returned his calls. Not to mention the President, who was overseas on diplomatic talks and as such was out of reach. Janssen had a feeling that the Commander-in-Chief would have no power here anyway, not when you had overbearing organisations such as the IOA interfering with matters and being well within their power to do so. The same went for the NID, or the CIA; they were too powerful, too out-of-control, more so than anything the President might have been able to rein in.

Janssen was still working at the SGC. As it stood, he had to pass all his orders through McClintock, who had to confer with his own superiors. They had to okay it, and then McClintock had to okay it, and finally Janssen could carry out the duties expected of a General. It was frustrating, to say the least, and it was to the point of near ridiculousness. He would not have been surprised if McClintock insisted on knowing when he went to the bathroom, and any sordid details that might have related to what he did in there. What Janssen had determined, early on, was that something behind the scenes had changed, and not for the better. It had, in turn, allowed the IOA to finally implement some genuine authority over the SGC. And no one Janssen contacted could tell him why this was suddenly the case, he only had speculation to go on.

There was still something he could do. It was mid-morning, and McClintock had been called to some kind of conference call in his office. Janssen, who had been sorting through some reports in his own office, used this opportunity to head down to an abnormally quiet control room. The stargate itself had not seen activation for several days, and somewhere out there, in the far reaches of the galaxy, a group of good people were in harm's way. He did not believe in leaving people behind; nor did he see it as a wise thing to do in the first place, if only because of the information the likes of Bowers or Sheppard might have been able to offer a hostile alien power. No matter how much they resisted torture, a person could only handle so much. Breaking under the stress was understandable.

There was one technician in the control room, seated at the main terminal. Janssen walked up alongside him, tapping him on the shoulder. The technician looked up, sitting upright when he saw that it was the General.

"Could you dial Ra's fortress?" Janssen asked him. The technician appeared uncertain, and Janssen offered him a somewhat sterner glance. "I want to try and contact our team."

"All right, sir." The technician did not argue, as his loyalties lay with the officer in command, not the bureaucrat who had been placed in charge over him. The same could be said for much of the personnel here. The technician entered a few commands on the computer in front of him, before punching in the stargate address. The stargate, inactive in the embarkation room ahead of them, creaked into life, the inner ring beginning its gradual rotation as each chevron lit up as the appropriate symbols were keyed in. It was a slow process without a dial-home device, and still was despite efforts to hurry it along a bit over the years.

Janssen half-expected McClintock to run in and demand why they were dialling the stargate. However, the man did not appear, and Janssen was likely to punch him out if he did. The final symbol, the point of origin, moved into position under the topmost chevron on the gate. However, instead of the familiar hiss-clunk of a dialled symbol, it simply remained unmoving, and as such the topmost chevron did not light up as expected. No wormhole formed, and the stargate remain inert. The illuminated chevrons switched off, and the embarkation room fell quiet.

"What happened?" Janssen asked. He had not been expecting a failed dial; perhaps a failure to contact the team through an activated wormhole, but a complete failure for the stargate to connect? He knew what it could mean, and with it a growing feeling of dread began to form within him.

"No connection, sir." The technician shook his head. "I can try again, but if the gate's buried on the other side…"

"Or destroyed." Janssen let out a sigh, one that was a mix of both frustration and resignation. It took a lot to destroy a stargate, but if the one on Ra's world had indeed been obliterated, he could only imagine the kind of power required. It was likely buried, but that in itself indicated an explosion of some kind. "Don't worry about it. That's my job." He gave the technician a reassuring pat on the shoulder before he turned and left the control room. If Sheppard and his team were all dead, incinerated in some kind of explosion, then there would be hell to pay. And McClintock would be on the receiving end, if not every bureaucrat he answered to.

* * *

McClintock was just leaving his office when Janssen practically walked into him. As always, the former lawyer was in his black business suit and held a briefcase in one hand. He looked at the General with some startlement, given how they had bumped into one another, and the General returned the expression with a scowl that made his contempt for the man very clear.

"Done with your important meeting?" Janssen asked, as the pair of them stopped in the corridor. "What was it this time? Discussing where all the money's going to go when this place closes shop?"

"General, you need to understand…" McClintock spoke in the kind of patronising tone that Janssen had come to associate with someone who thought they knew better, but more than likely did not.

"No, you need to understand, that whatever's going on here ain't going to fly for much longer." Janssen sidled right up to the man, and it was easy to at least attempt to intimidate him, given the fact that Janssen was a few inches taller than he was. "I'm going to pull out all the stops to get you and your cronies thrown out of here, I don't care what it takes."

"It's not what you think, General."

"Good God, really?" Janssen snorted in derision. "You're acting like I just caught you in bed with my sister. Grow some balls and stand up for yourself, instead of all this lawyerly-talk bullshit. I don't know what's going on, but I'm going to get to the bottom of it. You mark my words." He prodded a finger into the man's chest for emphasis, and he noticed McClintock visibly wince at the contact.

"Good people could very well be dead because of what you did," Janssen continued. "How does that sit on your conscience? Or do you not have one?"

"I'm as human as you are, General. But even I have my orders." McClintock adjusted his tie with one hand. "The stargate program is on hold for the time being. You will remain in your position and continue the administrative duties required of a General, but actual stargate operations are now under the oversight of the committee."

"This isn't a place for your damn 'committee'," Janssen countered.

"The program is on hold, as I explained, General. And it will remain on hold until the budget is set in stone."

Janssen gave an agitated huff when he heard this. An involuntary action, but proof of his utter contempt for the situation.

"Is that what it's all about?" He shook his head. "It's all about the damn money, isn't it? Just where else is it going to go? Schools? Roads?"

"That is not for me to say." McClintock sounded strangely remorseful, which only annoyed Janssen further. "But we can't afford to draw any threats to Earth. Whatever hostile aliens your people ran into out there, we have to take whatever measures necessary to keep them away from Earth. That means no stargate operations until the matter can be straightened out."

"Is it money, or is it security you're concerned about? Because don't piss in my ear and tell me it's raining. You can dress this up however you want, but I bet some political hotshots are the one's behind it all. They have their pet projects, and they're having the funding sent their way. You're just a pawn, and you must know that. Am I on the right track?"

"I don't want us to be in conflict all the time, General." McClintock looked him in the eyes, and there was something sincere in there. Not that this made the General like him anymore than he already did, which was to say, very little. "I'm on your side. There are other things that can help the human race, and unfortunately the stargate program has fallen down that list some way the last few years."

"And what if the aliens come knocking?"

"What? Here?" McClintock shrugged. "How can I say? We have ships, we have soldiers. Any hostile alien species should think twice about attacking us."

Janssen knew better, of course. The galaxy was a vast place, packed full of worlds that could have housed any kind of alien nightmare imaginable. And for all the power of Earth's growing star-fleet, there was no telling what kind of alien power could rise to meet them. Yet McClintock's superiors were taking the easier, narrow-minded and no doubt more affordable view of it all. Despite everything, Janssen could understand this. It was easy to sit content as they were now, with all those years behind them of nary a threat to Earth. From their viewpoint, Earth was safe and the stargate program could be cut back so the money could be put to more pressing issues.

Janssen sometimes felt like an older man than he was, for the way in which things had changed so suddenly, in such a short time. A relic, even, well out of its own time. The world was changing around him, and it had left him behind.

"You can never be sure of that," Janssen countered. "There could be all manner of nasty things out there."

"All the more reason to keep the stargate shut off for the time being," McClintock replied. "I'm truly sorry about your team, General, but I have my orders. And so do you."

McClintock walked around him then, having made his case. Janssen remained standing where he was, watching the IOA liaison as he strode off down the corridor. Nothing about this really added up, and he had since come to the conclusion that McClintock was little more than a pawn in a much larger game. Was it a conspiracy? Janssen felt that the word was a little too strong for what was likely little more than a political power-play from whoever was backing the IOA. Not that this made him feel any better. He needed to start his own line of investigation, and he knew just how to do it, rules be damned. If Sheppard, Bastion and the others were dead, then he would do everything in his power to get to the bottom of why they had been left to die on the other side of the galaxy.

* * *

Janssen knew he was breaking some rules with his next move, but he needed answers. There was more to all this than some political power-play, and Janssen still had the clout of the rank to get certain things that would not be available to the typical rank-and-file. Within the heart of the Cheyenne Mountain Complex, Janssen had made his way for the central communications station, which managed all internal communications, as well as any going to or coming from the outside world. The whole complex was self-sufficient, capable of withstanding multiple nuclear detonations, not to mention being buried underneath layers of steel and concrete that blocked wireless communications. Landlines were the only way to get word out from in here, and in turn every call was logged and recorded for security purposes.

McClintock had no doubt been monitoring his calls. That included those to the overall Air Force command, and to the Pentagon. Janssen had known that the weasel would be eavesdropping and had made sure that nothing had been said by him that might be used to against him. The conversations had been brief and vague, yet through that, Janssen had gleamed enough to know that those he might have been able to rely on would be of no help to him this time around.

Two could play at McClintock's game, and Janssen enlisted the help of one of the techs within the elaborate communications centre to bring up the history of the calls made by McClintock out of the base, and of any that had been made to him. There had been several, with many coming from the same number. This number lead to nothing of the IOA, and instead was traced to the warehouse of an import-export company that he himself had never heard of: Sword Exports Pty Ltd. And that was about all Janssen could turn up with a cursory Internet search, as well as a contact number that was nothing like the one McClintock had used.

Trying to playback these calls resulted in little success. Apparently, McClintock had used an encrypted line, which was normally only reserved for visiting high-ranking officials. Even Janssen did not have normal access to that kind of perk, not that he would have much need for it. What could be heard of the conversation that McClintock had had with whoever was on the other end was, as expected, garbled beyond understanding. Despite this, Janssen had something he could go on, a little tidbit that suggested much more was going on here than he had originally suspected.

Janssen returned to his office with renewed purpose, and upon sitting at his desk he picked up the regular black phone and dialled a number he had not thought he would ever need to call. Once, before he had accepted the job here, an old friend had told him that if there was ever anything he needed help with and no one else could assist him, then he was welcome to call. And the day had come for Janssen to call in that old favour.

He put the phone to his ear, hearing a few rings before it was finally picked up.

"Hello, Jack?" He paused, allowing the man on the other end to hear his voice. "It's Floyd Janssen. Something's going on here that I could use your particular brand of help on."


	23. The Way Back

**The Way Back**

The interior of the Goa'uld bomber was like most things built by the Goa'uld (or, more accurately, the slaves they put to work on such structures). Glazed flooring, bronze-coloured metal walls and a strict utilitarian layout, built for functionality first and foremost. There was little decoration to be found inside this bomber, at least until Joanne found her way to a central room that was behind the cockpit. It was not just a bomber, she had come to realise; rather, the Goa'uld who had been at Ra's fortress had seemingly used the ship for their own personal use. The central room, which might have once been used to carry soldiers or equipment, had instead been converted into an elaborate set of living quarters, complete with luxury bed, drapes hung over some walls and a computer terminal in the centre. The drapes and rugs were intricately decorated, some bearing symbols and hieroglyphics of a clear ancient Egyptian influence.

Joanne was surprised to find Valkas in here. He was over in one corner, examining a table adorned with various small statues and gemstones. Trinkets that had once belonged to Hesat, the Goa'uld they had killed back at the fortress. Joanne wondered what it had been like for Valkas, to see his chief tormentor finally go down. There had to have been some amount of catharsis involved.

"Found anything you like?" Joanne asked him, as she entered the room. Valkas turned around, offering her his familiar smile. Despite his alien appearance, it was a strangely warming gesture, and Joanne had come to appreciate it when she saw it. As for how genuine he was with them, she could see right away that this latest smile was sincere.

"I got distracted," he replied. "I was actually looking for a bath. I'm sure there's one around here, somewhere." He sniffed the air, as if to emphasise his point. "I would prefer not smelling like raw sewerage."

"Same for me." Joanne walked up alongside him, eyes going over the various trinkets laid out across the table. Most had collected a layer of dust, as had much of the room itself.

"I don't think Hesat ever really used this ship," Valkas said, absently. "She never left that planet, for as long as I was imprisoned."

"What did she do to you?" Joanne asked. She was well aware of the sensitive subject matter, and she immediately regretted asking it. She would be among the first to admit that she tended to speak before really thinking it through. Valkas did not appear fazed, and he simply hefted up one of the items on the table itself. A Goa'uld ribbon device, and the Calsharan's point was clear.

"Among other things," he said, before putting the device down. It was not much help to anyone on board, as only those with traces of naquadah in their blood could really operate such devices. That essentially meant anyone with a snake in their head, and Joanne had no intention of winding up with a parasite hijacking her body.

"We should get the Sergeant on that bed," Valkas added, and he nodded over to the luxury bed. "It certainly beats the floor."

He had a point there. Natalia was in a stable enough condition, despite the fact that she was unlikely to walk properly ever again. Daniel was operating the ship, with John offering his limited knowhow of Goa'uld technology in the co-pilot's position. This had left both Joanne and Valkas with little to do but sit through the journey, and even in hyperspace it was likely to take several days. Bending space itself was apparently still not enough to fully get around the vast distances involved in interstellar travel. And to think, everything was gradually getting further and further apart. Joanne was no astrophysicist, but the sheer thought was one she had difficulty wrapping her head around.

Pondering it now, it seemed odd to consider that until a few months ago, she had been a very Earth-bound person. She had loved to fly, and still did. However, space travel was a different beast to flying within atmosphere, and the thought that there was nothing outside but a harsh, deadly vacuum was a frightening one.

"How is she?" Valkas' voice broke through her reverie. He sounded genuinely concerned for the wounded Sergeant. Sometimes Joanne wondered just how much he was truly being sincere, and despite the sincerity in his voice, she did have some small amount of doubt. After all, he had no real stake in things anymore. They were off the planet and they had no further use for him. He had been helpful, certainly, yet it could easily have been for the purely selfish desire to stick with the people who were most likely to enhance his chances of survival.

"She's all right," Joanne said, even if she did not feel completely secure in saying that. "At least, mostly all right. She won't walk again, not without a brace or a stick by her side."

"So, her military days are done?" Valkas narrowed his eyes. "Knowing how your people work, she'll probably land a big pension when she's discharged. Isn't that how it goes?"

"In most cases." Joanne found Valkas' limited understanding of human society somewhat endearing. If anything, it made him come off as a fair bit more blunt as he made his observations, for he was not necessarily bound by the usual social graces that one would expect from a human being.

"I don't think she'd want to give it up, though." Joanne had not known Natalia for long, but she could see a career military woman in her. Much like herself, really. This was her life, and despite everything that she had been through in the last forty-eight hours, she would never give up on it. Never leave it, for if she did, she would not know what to do with herself.

"What about you?"

"Me?" Joanne shook her head. "Never. The only way I'd leave it is if I was dead."

"A sobering notion." Valkas frowned slightly, and Joanne was not sure whether to take this remark as a joke or not. He spoke in a level tone, which only made it harder to determine what he truly meant.

"I don't plan on dying anytime soon."

"Neither do I. Thing is, we might not have any say in the matter." He sounded more solemn now, as he turned around to face her fully. "Death can come for us anytime, and no one lives forever. Not even the Goa'uld, with their healing sarcophaguses and general hardiness against harm."

"Did what happen at the fortress make you contemplate your own mortality all of a sudden?" Joanne was surprised to hear all this from Valkas. He had never been quite this contemplative before, certainly not out loud, anyway.

"I had plenty of time to contemplate it when I was imprisoned," Valkas replied. "Being locked up alone, between routine bouts of pointless torture carried out for the entertainment of your captors, can lead to a lot of thinking. And I did a whole lot of that in the dungeons, the very one I found you and the others locked within. For some, having only yourself for company is the worst company of all."

There was a pause then, and the pair exchanged thoughtful glances, with some confusion apparent in Joanne's expression. It faded quickly, and she instead eyed him with curiosity.

"You know, Valkas, you never did mention your age."

"Why do you want to know?"

"I'm curious. I'm twenty-nine, by the way. In Earth years."

Valkas nodded his head in understanding. After a pause, in which he seemed to mull over his reply, he finally gave an answer.

"I'm twenty-four."

"You're younger than me?" Joanne raised her brows. Sure, Valkas was an alien and so far the only Calsharan she had met. She had no other reference when it came to his species, so she had no idea what the signs of ageing on something like him might have been. Was it a duller skin tone, wrinkles in the scales, longer bony spikes coming from the chin and the scalp? Because all of those did not apply to Valkas, which indeed suggested he might have been young.

"In your Earth terms," the Calsharan said. "Not by much."

"And your people, they live for what? Seventy, eighty years?"

"Often well over one-hundred," Valkas said.

"I'd be lucky to get to one-hundred, let alone over it." Joanne felt good, all of a sudden. Not because she was probably going to die before he did, but that she was having an actual, normal conversation for once. There was no talk of the mission, or of those who had been killed during it. Instead, she was simply learning more about the alien she had been so intrigued by since first meeting him, several weeks before. An alien she had assumed she could not fully trust, yet he had outright saved her life back in the fortress. Busting them from that cell had been above and beyond what was required of him, and certainly expected of him.

"How young were you when they put you in the military?" Valkas had told her of the mandatory military service required of his people, but he had never gone into specifics. Now seemed as good a time as any to get those specifics out of him.

"Sixteen."

"That young?" Joanne shook her head. "Your people must be big on war."

"We always have been. For a thousand years, it's been that way. And it's unlikely to change anytime soon. Our world is not unlike yours, except for the way in which we govern ourselves. For nearly a thousand years, we've been united under one leader and their ruling council."

"And everyone gets along, do they?"

Valkas chuckled then, a deep, rollicking noise that ended abruptly.

"No, not at all. We're just much better at putting down dissent." He spoke matter-of-factly, even if Joanne got the impression that his world was some kind of military police state. Was that not what had been determined during those earlier interviews, after he had first been brought to Stargate Command? Joanne had not been present for those ones, but she had read the reports. Words such as 'militaristic' and 'fascist' had been used by some of the interviewers. As for Valkas, he did not strike her as a military thug.

"Our world must be strange to you, then."

"In some ways, it is. Others, I see that we're not too different."

"And living on Earth, you must miss home, surely?" Joanne noticed Valkas' expression turn a little sullen, and he was silent for a moment as his eyes wandered, all while considering the question. He did miss his home-world, who would not? If Joanne was stuck on some alien world light years away for months on end, she would certainly grow to miss the familiarity of her home and her usual haunts on Earth.

"Home is…" Valkas paused briefly, as he searched for the right kind of word. "Home is home, Captain. It will always be a part of me. But I can never go back, not after what happened. I was on a secret mission, and my continued existence would raise certain awkward questions those in higher stations would prefer never to be asked. I can get used to your world, Captain." He looked her in the eyes, and they noticeably lit up as his mood improved. "I can get used to your people. I'm already part of the way there. Maybe one day I could walk your streets, without causing a panic?"

"Uh…" Joanne slowly shook her head. "If that day ever comes, it'll be a long time from now."

"So I'll wear a disguise." Now he was joking, if the smile he gave her was any indication. "I've grown to like some of your entertainment media. Your war heroes, such as Norris and Bronson, are most entertaining."

Joanne quirked one brow, a little confused by the statement.

"Norris?" It suddenly dawned on her what he meant. "Oh, you mean _that_ Norris. You know those are movies, right? Make-believe?"

Valkas' smile grew, and he beared his pointed teeth in that oddly endearing way of his.

"I am well aware of that, Captain. I really had you going there for a moment, didn't I?" He was yanking her chain. Now Joanne did smirk in return, even if she did feel a little embarrassed. It was a fleeting sensation, and she instead found herself very much comfortable in his presence. Despite his appearance, not to mention his imposing figure, she felt that she could trust him. Confide in him, even. All the more so, after what he had done during the mission. He had come back for them, even after, for a moment there, he might have considered running out on the team. Yet, in the end, he had done what was right, and to Joanne that meant the most.

"What does it mean, now that our enemies have those devices?" Valkas' change of subject had him lose his smile, and the seriousness of the situation came rushing back to Joanne when she really did not want it to. He had a point, of course; they had lost the Tollan devices to the Field Marshall and whatever species he happened to be a part of.

"Nothing good, I'll bet." There was no use worrying about it now. They were nowhere near Earth, for one, so they had little means of sending a message back to try and alert the SGC of what had happened. All they could do was continue flying and hope that they would get back home before the Field Marshall did whatever it was he was planning. That was another problem: they did not actually _know_ what he intended, just that he was out to get Earth. That could have meant an orbital bombardment, for all they knew. It could have meant _anything_, nothing of which was good. All the more reason to hurry on back to Earth, god forbid they run into any further obstacles along the way.

"I'll get the Sergeant," Joanne said, before she turned and made for the door. "Someone's got to put that luxury bed to decent use."

* * *

"You don't have to do much flying in hyperspace, huh?" John had been gazing out of the ship's viewport, finding himself fascinated by the waves of swirling white and yellow energy that shot past the ship. Hyperspace was, in his limited understanding of the matter, a dimension not entirely within the one they were on. A means of bypassing the extreme distances between star systems, by essentially bending space itself around the ship. Granted, John was not an astrophysicist, and from what he could tell neither was Daniel. The computer did all the work here, Daniel had simply been the one who was able to read its display, given that it was all written in Goa'uld.

"The wonders of computers," Daniel muttered. The two of them had so far had little involvement in the actual flying of the ship, since they had jumped into hyperspace. A few minutes ago, both Valkas and Joanne had come by and helped Natalia to her feet. Apparently, there was a luxury Goa'uld bedroom in the middle of the ship, which would suit their wounded team member much better than the floor. And, once again, both Daniel and John were left alone in the cockpit.

"You were there the first time, when those aliens took over the SGC." John turned to Daniel then, causing the other man to swivel about to face him. "What did you make of them?"

"Make of them?" Daniel gave a light frown. "I was unconscious for most of it. I did see the clean-up operation, and I saw one of them dead, but as for any of them alive and talking?" He shook his head. "I only know what I was told by the others on my team. Carter and O'Neill, not to mention Maybourne. And that was before the whole thing was covered up, classified to the highest level. I really don't know much at all about these aliens."

"Nothing at all?" John did not like fumbling about for answers, which was very much what they were having to do here. The Field Marshall had not provided much in the way of information, save for the fact he had a personal grudge against humanity, especially those humans from Earth. And so far, the Field Marshall had been the only one who had even spoken to them. The rest of them had not bothered with translators, the snarls and clicks of their alien tongues incomprehensible to human ears.

"I'm sorry, John." Daniel sounded genuinely remorseful. "I wish I could be more help, but you probably know more about them than I do."

There was a pause then. Both men were silent for a short while, the only distinguishable noise being the quiet hum of the ship's engines. Unlike a typical Goa'uld bomber, this one had seemingly been modified, made into more of a personal yacht than an actual military ship. John had a feeling that the Goa'uld they had run into at Ra's fortress had used this ship for her own ends.

"They did take those Tollan devices," Daniel said suddenly, as if an important thought had just occurred to him.

"They weren't functional…"

"But that Field Marshall, he somehow found out about them." Daniel's voice grew a little grimmer as he developed the thought, speculating his way to what John would consider a 'worst-case scenario'.

"From that Calsharan I found," John replied. He had told the others of his run-in with Valkas' previous commanding officer. Oddly enough, Valkas himself had not seem very torn-up about the death of his commander. If anything, he had seemed relieved, although John could not think of anyone who deserved to be mutilated in much the way Corasar had been. "They must have caught him, had him tell them about the devices and the armoury. That must have been what Valkas' people were after."

"Maybe." Daniel did not sound convinced. "But Valkas didn't recognise the devices. How could his people have been after them, if even he did not know what they were?"

"Because he's just a grunt," John said. "They probably didn't tell him, but his commander certainly knew. Maybe they didn't know they were non-functional?" Again, John was taking a wild stab at it here. There was very little to go on as a whole, while somewhere out there the Field Marshall continued his plot, whatever it might have been. And nothing about it could have been good for Earth.

"Maybe. Maybe they were just a secondary objective. Valkas mentioned something about an item special to his people in that armoury, but whatever it was must have been destroyed. The Tollan devices couldn't have been it."

"So, what are you saying? Because we're just throwing ideas around, and none of them add up. Not entirely, anyway."

"I'm saying that maybe the Field Marshall has a means of getting those devices working." Daniel made the suggestion in a grimly serious tone of voice, and John could buy into it right away. The ability to phase through solid matter would be a game-changer for any species, especially those of the space-faring and hostile variety. "You probably don't know about this, but I was on the Tollan home-world a few times. They were far more advanced than any other transplanted human culture we've run into, and I've sometimes thought that there had to be a reason for that. I originally thought that it was because they might have skipped their 'Dark Ages', but that doesn't hold too much water anymore."

"The Dark Ages weren't that dark," John said, recalling an article he had read some time ago. "I mean, that's what I heard, recently."

"The irony there is that the church were the only ones keeping preserving records," Daniel added. "But that's beside the point. The point is, the Tollans were incredibly advanced, but in the end they were subverted by the Goa'uld, used as a means to an end. Their phase-shifting technology was fixed to powerful naquadah-enriched bombs for the intention of obliterating all the enemies of the Goa'uld Anubis. A bomb that could pass through solid matter. The kind of solid matter protecting the stargate on Earth."

"You think that's what the Field Marshall is going to do?" It was a troubling thought. A single naquadah-enriched bomb of sufficient magnitude could split open the Earth's crust. "But the devices don't work, Daniel."

"And if he has the means to make them work?" Daniel posited this as a question, even though he already knew the answer just as much as John did. "We'd have a hostile force capable of the technological feats of the Tollans, which would put them a step above the Goa'uld for certain."

"We've beaten off worse…"

"Have we?" Daniel remained unconvinced. "The Goa'uld fought amongst themselves as much as they did outsiders. That was turned to our advantage. And the Ori, they were only beaten by something the Ancients left us, a literal magic box. This time around, I don't think there are going to be any of those for us to use on our enemies. You saw the Field Marshall, you spoke to him even."

"He made it clear that he's operating without the sanction of his people's government," John explained. "He's gone rogue, but he has a lot of friends backing him up."

"Which probably makes things even worse, if you think about it a little more. What do you think a rogue general could do with technology like what the Tollans had? He could use it to overthrow his own government, put himself in charge. Turn the entire resources of his people against us, not to mention the galaxy as a whole. I don't want to sound pessimistic, John, but we've got a situation on our hands that could blow up into something so much worse than it already is." Daniel sounded apologetic almost, as if this kind of talk was too disheartening for him to say. John did not agree, for he knew that Daniel was right. He was taking into account the potentialities that John should have been, being the ranking officer here. And the more he thought about it all, the worse it all seemed to become.

"The Field Marshall has all the reason he needs to come after Earth, and he could also have the means to pull off an attack," Daniel continued. "We have to stop him, John."

"I know, Daniel." John returned his gaze to the viewport, and to the swirling energies of hyperspace. "But we have to get to Earth first. That's all we can do." He leaned back in the chair, a typically solid one as the Goa'uld did not design these things with comfort in mind. Some lowly Jaffa would have been seated here, flying the ship at the behest of his Goa'uld master, and as such he was probably too far down on the pecking order to request a comfortable chair.

Before anything more could be said, a beeping noise sounded from somewhere on the control console. John's eyes went to a blinking red light that had started up in turn with the noise, and he glanced over to Daniel, who had also caught sight of the light with his face creasing into a look of concern. And that concern quickly shifted into something much more serious as he regarded the display in front of him, and the lines of Goa'uld writing scrolling along it.

"A blinking red light usually means we're about to die, doesn't it?" John tapped a finger onto the part of the control console where the light was flashing. "Either that, or the pizza's done."

"The scanners are picking up some unusual readings." Daniel danced a few fingers along the display, pushing aside sections of ship diagnostics in exchange for others, sifting through the information as he searched for the most relevant parts, and in turn the details as to what had troubled the ship's sensors. "Sometimes hyperspace can cause fluctuations with the sensors, but this…" He trailed off, his eyes moving to another of the displays. This one showed a screen not unlike that of a radar, albeit with significantly more detail. Something large and red was coming up on their rear on this screen, which to John was far more than a cause for concern. Panic came to mind, and to less experienced individuals without his level of training it would certainly have been a likely course of action. For now, John remain calm and collected, even with this new, looming threat.

"Daniel, see if you can't speed us up," John said.

"Any faster and we could blow out the hyperdrive."

"We'll just have to chance it. Something's on our tail, and I don't want to be around to find out what."

* * *

Natalia had been somewhat morose since they had escaped their cell. Joanne could certainly understand why, given all that they had been through. The woman had been in pain for much of the past twenty-four hours, and needed help getting around. She could hardly walk on her own, which essentially spelled the end for her military career, short of a comfy desk job somewhere. Joanne and Valkas had set her on the luxury bed in Hesat's quarters, and Joanne had found some clean cloths lying about that she had used to exchange with the bloodied bandages wrapped around Natalia's wounded leg.

"You want something to drink?" Joanne asked the Sergeant. Natalia sat against the headboard and offered the Captain an appreciative smile. "They got water here. It's clean, too." She was not wrong; this ship came with all the necessities it needed to sustain a crew, among them rations and water. The former were somewhat tasteless nutrient biscuits and paste. There were plenty of water packs stashed in the cargo area on board, so if they were stuck in space for a while they would have enough to get by.

"I'll be fine for now, Captain." Natalia shifted a little where she sat. Joanne had helped her take some of the uniform off, leaving her in a black top and her combat pants. The latter item was filthy, but it was better than nothing. "I just need to rest."

There was something in that voice that sparked remorse in Joanne. Remorse at the fact that this woman had come on this mission, one that Joanne had led the charge on, only to become another casualty. Sure, she was still alive, at least, but her life had definitely changed and not for the better.

"Look, Sergeant," Joanne said, causing the woman to shift her eyes to her own. Joanne struggled to form words, as for one precarious moment there her emotions threatened to overcome her. "I'm sorry about this. I can't voice that enough."

"Sorry, Captain?" Natalia sounded confused. "What for?"

"You were put on this mission, and it was my mission. Bastion might have been the one in charge, but it was always going to be _my_ mission. I had my career in mind and look how everything ended up." Joanne let out a sigh. "Everything went wrong."

"You couldn't have predicted what happened." Natalia's previously morose demeanour seemed to lighten up, which surprised Joanne. She did not know the Sergeant well, but so far she had determined that she was perhaps the kind of woman who preferred people be up-front with her. Joanne could empathise with such a characteristic.

"None of it is your fault," Natalia continued. "It doesn't matter how prepared you are in this kind of work. Something is bound to go wrong eventually."

"But you might never walk…"

"I'll live. I might need a leg brace, but I'll go on living. My injury isn't your fault, Captain." Despite these confident words, Joanne thought she saw something more solemn in her eyes. She knew that she could no longer continue her role in the military in the state she was in. A soldier with a serious limp would only be a liability on the battlefield, and they both knew this. Sure, there might have been ways around it. Maybe the wound was not as severe as it appeared. Even so, Natalia's life from here on in would be very different to what she had known, and the uncertainty of this future was likely what had left her feeling anxious. Still, she did a good job of hiding it.

"We'll get you fixed up once we're back on Earth," Joanne said. "They'll have something to help, I'm sure of it."

"Are you always this optimistic, Captain?" Natalia's mouth appeared to curl into a wry smirk, and it was apparent that Joanne's attempts to reassure her were painfully transparent. Once again at a loss for words, Joanne simply shook her head in response.

At that point, John's voice suddenly sounded through the ship's PA system, clear as day. Joanne and Natalia looked up, alert, as the Colonel delivered a very unexpected message.

"_All right, everyone, listen up. We've got an unknown contact on our tail, and its burning through hyperspace towards us. Whatever it is, they know we're here and they're out to get us. You all best get ready for trouble, because this ship ain't going to outrun them."_

Joanne turned and left the room then, making her way for the cockpit. It was a short walk down the central corridor, and there she found Valkas as well, with John and Daniel working their stations as they tried to outrun whatever it was that was following them.

"Any ideas?" She asked the trio, as she approached. John looked her way and shook his head.

"Whatever it is, it's big. Bigger than us, at least." He tapped one of the display screens between them, specifically the one showing the scanners and, in turn, the large red blob that was rearing up behind them. Goa'uld writing tagged it as what Joanne could only assume was 'unidentified'. That meant that it was certainly not a Goa'uld vessel, and the energies of hyperspace ensured that its exact shape was shrouded from the scanners.

"I've never seen anything like this before." Daniel looked at the other displays before him, where Goa'uld text scrolled on down, delivering all manner of information. "It's putting out a lot of power. About the same level as an Asgard hyperdrive." Daniel's eyes went to the viewport. To Joanne's left, Valkas stood, and an increasingly worried look had fallen upon his rough, scaly features. Joanne noticed this, and she turned to him, eyes narrowing.

"You know who they are?" She asked him.

"I don't know. Not until I see them." Valkas did not return her gaze, he simply kept looking towards the hyperspace tunnel before them, and the way in which the energies of this strange dimension swirled past them.

"I'm putting everything I can to the engines," Daniel stated. He shook his head, and the look on his face said it all. They were going to get caught.

"It couldn't be the Field Marshall's people, could it?" Joanne asked aloud. That was one possibility she did not want to contemplate, as they had all nearly died at the hands of that vendetta-driven alien officer. To fall into his clutches again, well, it hardly beared thinking about.

The whole ship lurched violently then. Joanne was thrown forwards, with both Daniel and John managing to keep themselves seated. The hum of the engines was replaced by a loud and abrupt _clunk_, that was over within seconds. The engines themselves seemed to die then, and the hyperspace tunnel ahead of them disappeared with a flash, becoming replaced with the star-speckled blackness of regular space. Joanne had to grab for the back of John's chair to keep herself from falling over, whereas Valksa stood his ground with only one hand to the back of Daniel's chair. He had hardly moved regardless, statue-like as his eyes narrowed towards the large shadow that was falling over them.

"We've just been pulled out of hyperspace," Daniel announced, as he surveyed the instrumentation. "The engines are offline, and the scanner…" A quick glance at the scanner showed a flashing red warning sign, along with a tell-tale red blob that was now right on top of them. Through the viewport, the stars immediately above them disappeared, becoming replaced with dark grey metal. A ship loomed over them, much larger than their own, perhaps even larger than one of the Earth cruisers. Yet, at the same time, Joanne could see a similar design philosophy to its exterior, all utilitarian grey metal with nary a thought put towards aesthetics.

"I can bring up an image," Daniel said, as he toyed with the controls. They were adrift in some unknown sector of space, yanked out of hyperspace by what Joanne assumed was a sort of tractor beam. That suggested a great deal of advanced technology, as Joanne was not even sure if Earth vessels were capable of ripping other ships from hyperspace without some serious calculations required.

A holographic image appeared, floating over the control terminal. It was a three-dimensional representation of the ship that now hovered over them, the image itself several inches long. The vessel in question was shaped like the head of an arrow, with a visible set of hangar bays on its underbelly. The four of them looked upon it with mostly confusion and, at least for Joanne, a growing sense of dread. The grey metal hull and the odd black and red decal on the side suggested a coldness to its design, and in turn the people who had designed it. This was a ship built for battle, without the flair for theatricality and aesthetics that the Goa'uld had favoured with their own.

"It's nearly a kilometre long," Daniel said, as he relayed the information the scanners were giving him. "Three times the size of our own cruisers."

"What about that symbol there?" John pointed to the red-and-black decal on the side, and Daniel zoomed in on it. Above them, the vessel itself had shrouded completely over their own, seemingly tiny Goa'uld bomber. There was an audible metal clanking from somewhere above them, as the ship sought to dock with their own.

"We're about to have guests," Valkas said. He turned around and made his way for the nearby wall, where the alien rifles had been leaning. They had since fallen over after their abrupt exit from hyperspace, and Valkas hefted one up and checked it over.

As for the symbol on the side of the ship, it was a set of evenly spaced black triangles arranged such that they formed a fourth white triangle in the centre. In turn, the triangles were set in the middle of a white circle. A stark, militaristic symbol for a stark, militaristic ship. Not at all like the ships the Field Marshall and his soldiers had used, which gave Joanne some small measure of relief. However, all this did was indicate that what they faced here was strictly unknown, and that was in some ways much more worrying.

John rose to his feet, his eyes shooting over to Valkas.

"What do you know about this?" He asked him. Valkas returned the harsh glare in his own way, amber eyes fixed into a scowl.

"I'd recommend arming yourself, Colonel." Valkas adjusted the setting on the alien rifle, putting its charge two-thirds of the way to full. "They won't be friendly. Certainly not to another species."

Before he could elaborate further, a set of dull thumps and metal clanks echoed from down the central corridor. All eyes went towards the corridor itself, and Joanne found herself hurrying for the weapons at the wall. John did the same.

They did not have much time to react, when the first pair of boarders charged into the room. They were clad in heavy black armour, comprised of a dull metal that was likely to be missing from the Earth periodic table. Gleaming yellow visors regarded the group with cold indifference, the large humanoid figures imposing as they filled the doorway. Another two of them went down the opposite direction, heading for the luxury Goa'uld bedroom where Natalia was housed. Joanne figured that these intruders had scanned the ship for life-forms, and as such knew exactly where to go to find them.

Valkas, John and Joanne pointed their rifles at the pair. And the pair, in turn, pointed their own weapons towards them. Sleek and comprised of a chrome-like metal, the barrels of these elaborate alien weapons glowed a dull blue. One of the aliens, voice deep and guttural, barked at them through its helmet. An order, Joanne presumed, not that any of them could understand it. Any of them except for Valkas.

"What do you want?" He asked the pair of them. Rifles flashed blue, and the next thing Joanne knew, Valkas had hit the floor with blue energy crackling over him. There was no smoking hole, however, which indicated a low-power setting. Before even she could return the favour, one of the alien's rifles fired her way. The shot struck her in the chest, and the room around her spun as electricity swirled through her, throwing out her muscle control and sending her into a sudden, enveloping blackness. Her last thought before losing consciousness was less a thought, and more of a feeling: confusion.


	24. An Old Familiar Face

**An Old, Familiar Face  
**March 31st, 2022

Janssen had half-expected McClintock to send someone to follow him, when he left the SGC. However, it appeared that McClintock had learnt his lesson, or at the very least was simply too busy to keep tabs on the General's every movement. With a diminishing number of things for him to do at the SGC, Janssen had found it easy enough to slink out of there without raising too much attention. After all, McClintock was the one in charge, Janssen felt a little useless now that the stargate itself was no longer in operation. The program was on indefinite hold, and Janssen's position as commander there was now very much up-in-the-air.

It was early morning when he left Cheyenne Mountain in his own car, with no aide or driver with him. And it took a little while to find his way to his intended destination, if only because of the traffic that was along the main roads running through Colorado Springs. Once through town, the roads cleared again, and Janssen found himself met with rolling forested hills and distant mountains. Roads curved and wound their way amongst it all, and taking a left-turn at a little-used intersection, he came upon a narrow asphalt road that took him downhill. At the base of the hill was a small lake, surrounded by forest, save for the quaint single-storey house situated by it at one side. It was a picturesque place, even more so in the morning sunshine. The house itself was mostly timber, which suited the natural, forest setting around it.

There was a single blue sedan parked out the front, which suggested that someone was home. Janssen brought his car to a halt next to it, killing the engine before he climbed out into the cool spring air. Birds called from nearby trees, and he thought he sighted a red fox darting amongst some bushes by the side of the driveway. It was a contrast to Janssen's own home a few states over, nestled in a quiet strip of suburbia with white picket fences, luxury cars and immaculately trimmed hedgerows. Pleasant, certainly, but compared to here it came across as somewhat artificial. Maybe he would retire to a place like this, he was certainly near enough to that part of his life. This thought only made him feel old, a thought that he had been getting a lot lately.

Approaching the front door, he rapped lightly upon it. There was a pause, followed by footsteps from the other side, before it opened up. Janssen offered a friendly smile to the man standing in the doorway.

"Well, well," the other man said, somewhat wryly. "You came all this way out to see me. Usually I'd be flattered, but something tells me you didn't come here just to catch up."

"I don't know who else to turn to," Janssen replied.

"That's worrying." The other man, slightly taller, a little plump around the waistline and topped with greying hair, stepped aside to allow Janssen to enter. "Seems I can't even retire without something terrible happening. You haven't come to pull me out of retirement, have you?"

"Maybe." Janssen stepped into the house, whilst his host closed the door behind him. "Although I wouldn't want to do that to you, Jack. Even a man as legendary as yourself needs a rest."

"Is that what they're calling me these days?" The retired General Jack O'Neill sounded amused, in his own way. Dressed in a loose-fitting polo shirt and grey cargo trousers, Jack looked to be the very definition of 'retired'. Here was a man who had done his time, worked his hours and made his reputation. He had the home he intended to live in until the day he died, and he no doubt had a leisurely routine filled with those typical things retired outdoor-going military men tended to do, amongst them fishing, hiking, golf and, of course, watching television. At least, those were things Janssen intended to do much more of when he retired.

With that in mind, Janssen could see that the television set in the lounge nearby was switched on, an ice hockey game in full swing. Jack lead the way into the living room, starting for the kitchen off in the corner.

"You want something to drink, General?" Jack sauntered over to the kitchen bench top. "I got beer."

"Anything without alcohol?"

"Right." Jack gave a quick nod of his head. "I forgot that you didn't drink." He walked over to the refrigerator and from inside he pulled out a can of lemonade. "This'll do you, I think." He tossed the can to Janssen, who caught it in one hand, his reflexes as good as they were when he had been a young man. Jack's eyes flitted over to the television set, as one of the ice hockey teams scored a goal.

"Damn." He sounded annoyed for a second. "I've got money on the other guys."

Janssen looked about the room, curious. There was nothing immediately eye-catching, it was a seemingly ordinary living room. Shelves at a few walls, a mantelpiece at the other side, books and DVD/Blu-Ray cases scattered about. Several seasons of _The Simpsons_, Janssen noticed (that was one show that was in dire need of being put to rest, he thought); books on fishing, hiking, even one of those wilderness survival guides that was much thicker than would have been practical to pack into one's camping bag. Framed photos as well, scattered around: a few of a much younger Jack, joined by a young boy whom was no doubt the retired General's long dead son. And there were other framed photos as well, including a few of a blonde-haired woman with a pleasant face.

"You didn't say much over the phone," Jack said, as he emerged from the kitchen with a cold beer in one hand. He stopped by the couch, eyes resting upon the General. "I did get the part that you weren't in charge anymore."

"It's not just that, Jack." Janssen cracked open the can of lemonade and took a sip. "There's a lot more going on that even I don't understand. I was forced to leave a team behind, off-world. Can you believe that?"

Jack's face scrunched up into a frown, a fairly serious one at that. It lightened, somewhat, after a moment of deliberation.

"Should you be telling me this, Floyd? I'm not in the loop anymore. You could get in a lot of trouble…"

"I don't care."

"Just saying." Jack gave a light shrug, and then a playful wink. "I won't tell. Your secrets are safe with me."

"Some IOA weasel got assigned to the SGC. Darren McClintock." Janssen figured he should start at the beginning, or at least close to it. Jack had been out of it for a while, after retiring from his post at Homeworld Command. "And since then, he's been put in control of the SGC as a whole. The IOA, or whoever's backing them, have shut down the stargate program."

"And this team you mentioned?" Jack was far more interested in this little detail, and Janssen was well aware of his reputation of never leaving anyone behind. "They got left behind?"

"They were sent on the intel of a captured alien to find advanced weapons," Janssen explained. He took another sip of the lemonade. Jack leaned back against the kitchen bench, eyes set on the General, his interest well above piqued. Despite his reputation as being somewhat difficult to work with, if one got on the wrong side of him, when it came to a serious situation, he was always quick to take charge and get down to business.

"Some fortress, on a world on the far edge of the galaxy. Once belonged to Ra."

Jack nodded his head at mention of the name.

"That takes me back," he said.

"But they encountered a hostile alien race, something other than the Goa'uld. And when they tried to come on back through the gate, McClintock had it shutdown. He was worried we would be drawing another alien threat to Earth. Frankly, he and his superiors are just burying their heads in the sand. It's been years since we've had any major trouble from any alien power, and I can guarantee that the IOA and the NID and whoever else want to keep it that way."

Jack nodded again, taking it all in.

"Your old friend, Daniel Jackson, was on that team." Janssen saw the older man's somewhat neutral gaze turn into a scowl, mingled with an increasing look of concern in his brown eyes. "He was considered an expert on Ra, so it seemed fitting to send him along."

"Do you know what aliens attacked them?" Jack asked. Janssen shook his head.

"No idea. I think that's what worried McClintock the most. That we could have crossed paths with something unknown. All the more reason to shut the whole thing down and leave your old friend, as well as several good people, to die on some alien planet. I tried to push him for a recovery operation, but I was denied every time. It's been…" He paused, as he thought about this, tallying up the hours in his head from when he had last tried to make contact with Colonel Sheppard and Captain Bowers. That had been when the stargate had not activated, which had only made him all the more fearful as to what had become of the team.

"Nearly four days," McClintock added. "Four days since they were left behind. I tried to get through to them, a good forty-eight hours ago, but the stargate wouldn't activate. As if it's been buried on the other side."

"Who else was on that team?" Jack seemed a little tense all of a sudden. Maybe it was because his old friend was likely dead, or perhaps it was simply the way in which these people had been abandoned. Janssen felt a little awkward then, even if none of this was really his fault. It was McClintock and his bureaucratic superiors who had engineered this whole thing, conspiracy or otherwise.

"Colonel John Sheppard. You know him."

"I do. Haven't seen the man in years, though. I heard he wasn't part of the program anymore." Jack took a gulp of beer. Whatever light-hearted mood he had been in was gone now, replaced with something much more serious, grim even. He was all business now, that much Janssen could see.

"He was relieved of command of the Atlantis expedition, when it was deemed unnecessary for a large military presence there," Janssen said. "He annoyed a lot of people, when he pushed back against this decision, so they relegated him to training recruits. He was brought on for his experience with off-world travel."

"Don't you have enough people with that kind of experience?"

"Not anymore. We used to have more than twenty-five SG teams, Jack. Now we're down to ten, mostly scientific and diplomatic teams. We have a token presence at the Alpha Site, and the Beta Site was shutdown three years ago after an accident there. The funding's been reduced every year, and we've reached a point where it's becoming cost-prohibitive to even keep the lights on." Janssen shook his head. He had thought, when he had inherited the command of the SGC, that he would be part of something greater than himself, assisting humanity as a whole. Instead, he had fallen into a political mire that had managed to sap away much of the enjoyment he had of the job.

"Where's the money going?" Jack asked.

"That's the big question, isn't it? I'd like to think they're putting it towards schools, hospitals and roads, but we all know that isn't the case." Janssen let out a resigned sigh. "Something's going on, Jack. That's why I've come to you. That McClintock guy, he's been communicating to not just his superiors at the IOA, but someone else. Some kind of export company, one that has no real presence on any records we have."

"You've been listening in on the man's phone calls?" Jack nodded his head in approval. "Floyd, I didn't know you had it in you. Spying on someone. Hardly by-the-book, don't you think?"

"I know what I've been doing is breaking the rules. But I know for a fact that McClintock has been listening in on my communications since he took over, probably even before then. That's why I was vague with you, over the phone. I couldn't afford to let him and his people catch wind of my own personal investigation. His phone calls were encrypted, but I did trace them to that company I mentioned. And they have an address."

Now Jack's brows perked up, as he no doubt caught on to what Janssen was proposing.

"You want to go stick your nose in?" Jack sounded pleased at the prospect. Here was a man who was used to going out in the field and had never taken particularly well to a deskbound job. He had been retired for a number of years, and again he had probably been yearning for an excuse to get back out there. And here it was, even if it was a simple trip across God's green Earth, rather than an alien world. Janssen had been right to come here, as he had felt that Jack O'Neill could never bring himself to pass up such an opportunity.

"What would an export company be doing communicating with an IOA liaison who is, coincidentally, now in charge of the SGC?" Janssen posited the question more for effect than for an actual answer. "Sounds like a front for something else."

"Of course it is," Jack said. He was certain, and Janssen knew that it was not the first time Jack had stuck his nose into a conspiracy. And that was what this was, was it not? An actual conspiracy. Someone had engineered a takeover of the SGC, and McClintock himself was little more than a pawn in the whole thing.

"They're in Denver. On the western edge of the city. A warehouse, most likely." He paused for a moment, regarding the retired General before him. "You don't have to get involved, Jack. I wouldn't want to ruin your retirement and put you in danger…"

"Oh, you came here knowing I'd want to get involved." Jack sounded amused, and he gulped down another sizeable portion of his beer. "And I do. If there's some big scheme in motion here, I'll help you get to the bottom of it. And I'll help you get that team of yours back, no matter what it takes. Wouldn't be the first time I've had to pull Daniel's ass out of the fire."

There was a long pause then, as Janssen considered what was said and Jack awaited his answer. Janssen was not sure what to say then, although he did feel that he was about to get involved in something much more complicated than he was used to. He was a simple man at heart, and he preferred things to be straightforward: good vs. bad, black and white, that sort of thing. To find that the government he had worked for all these years was now actively working against him, that was a bitter pill to swallow. Yet, at the same time, it simply encouraged him to delve deeper into the matter, in order to find the truth, no matter how unpleasant it may have been.

"Are we taking your car or mine?" Janssen asked.

* * *

The drive from Colorado Springs to Denver took a good couple of hours. Jack insisted on driving, as he had not been out of the house for a few days and had been looking for an excuse to go for a drive. Both men wore civilian clothes, and Jack had set the radio onto a classic rock station that was to the taste of both men.

When the skyline of Denver appeared in the distance, along with the traffic one could expect on the freeway heading into the city, Janssen felt some growing tension. There was no telling what they might find, if anything, and he was perhaps more worried about not finding anything. If there was nothing to this lead, then he would hit a dead-end. He would have to go back to the SGC, beholden to whatever McClintock and his IOA superiors wanted. As for Jack, it was apparent that regardless of the result, the former General was happy just to be involved again.

Janssen had read the reports from years past, of the kind of things Jack and SG-1 had done. He wondered how a man like Jack O'Neill could sleep at night, having been through all sorts of craziness during his service to Stargate Command. Encountering all manner of alien nasties, not to mention getting hurt on numerous occasions, even dying once or twice. Looking at him now, Janssen could not see any evidence of trauma. Jack was a seemingly normal man with a good sense of humour and an enthusiasm that Janssen had been lacking these past couple of years.

Midday rolled around as they entered Denver. The address of Sword Exports was in a district comprised of warehouses and factories not far from Denver airport, on the edge of the city where the buildings thinned out, with small pieces of suburbia dotted here and there. Amongst it all, a forgotten slab of warehouses with a few roads weaving between them. They stood out starkly against the mostly wide-open land that spread out from the edge of town, broken up by Denver Airport itself. One warehouse, situated on a corner, was the intended destination for the travelling pair. Large and grey, it lacked any real discerning features. There were small windows up close to its roof, and even as the car rolled up out the front, Janssen could see that the windows were covered up from the inside with paper and cardboard. Odd, he thought, and in general the whole look of the place suggested it was abandoned.

"This is it." Janssen's eyes went to the sign out the front, situated by the front gate, the words printed in large black lettering: SWORD EXPORTS, PTY LTD. Jack brought the car to a halt outside the front of the gate, his eyes surveying the perimeter fence and what could be seen of the building behind it.

"Looks inviting," he remarked. Shutting off the engine, the pair climbed out of the sedan and approached the tall metal gate. Barbed wire was curled over the top of it and the fence that ran around the perimeter of the property. A power-pole rose up high near the gate. Situated upon it was a surveillance camera with its lens directed to the gate and the two men who had come to stand before it. Janssen approached the gate first, hand going to the heavy padlock keeping both its halves closed shut.

"You wouldn't happen to have any bolt-cutters?" He turned to Jack, who gave a quick shake of the head.

"I think the better question is, 'is anyone home'?" Jack walked up to the gate, and there he bent over somewhat in order to peer through the small cut-out where the padlock's chain went through. "No cars, no trucks. No sign of life." He stood upright again, eyes going up to the camera. He nodded towards it, directing Janssen to follow his gaze. "But I get the feeling we're being watched."

"Could be someone off-site." Janssen rattled the padlock. It was certainly a heavy-duty one at that, with a chain encased in a thick plastic cover. Even with bolt-cutters it would probably take a fair bit of effort to cut through.

"And you say your IOA man was calling here?"

"That must mean there's someone here. He can't have been calling an empty building." Janssen could not see a way in on this side. There might have been a back entrance somewhere, but he figured that would just be another locked gate. He had not come here thinking he would need to break-in, as normally people did not call empty warehouses to talk to someone. The place did _look_ empty, but was it really?

He slipped off his jacket then. It was a fairly ordinary blue one, and he had been getting a bit warm under it anyway. The gate's height was a solid two-and-a-half metres, at least, standard for this sort of place. Janssen had no intention of leaving here without answers, and so he threw his jacket up and over the top of the gate, such that it landed over the barbed wire that ran along the top of it. Jack watched him do this, nodding his head in approval.

"Never took you for a breaking-and-entering kind of guy, Floyd."

"Never had to break-in anywhere before, Jack." Janssen turned to him, pointing a thumb at the top of the gate. "Could you give me a boost?"

Janssen made a move for the top of the gate. Jack helped him get one leg into the cutaway where the padlock was, and from here it was simply a matter of Janssen climbing over the top of the gate. The jacket kept him from scratching himself on the barbed wire, and it was easier to climb down the other side, as the metal framework of the gate itself was exposed here. The physical exertion was probably more than what Janssen had done in some time, and he could already feel his arm muscles complaining. He was a bit too out-of-shape for his liking, something he thought he ought to rectify later on down the road. For now, he had a warehouse to investigate, although he found himself peering at Jack through the cutaway in the centre of the gate.

"You right to wait out there?" Janssen asked him. Jack's face appeared on the other side, and the older man frowned slightly.

"I don't know, Floyd. I might get bored."

"I'll try and open it on my side." Janssen looked about the open front-yard of the warehouse, which was mostly just a parking lot with a small metal shed in one corner. He knew that if he was caught, that if he tripped an alarm and brought the cops down on himself, then even his position as a General would not save him from the consequences. Even more so, if this place was indeed some kind of secret hideout for some government agency.

The shed was where he went, and this time around the door was a flimsy metal one held on by a small padlock. He gave it a few sharp kicks, before he threw his weight against it. The metal flap where the padlock was connected to the door itself broke away, and the door flung open. The interior of the shed was dark and dusty, with shelves on the walls carrying various bits and pieces, namely power tools, shovels, traffic cones and some electrical wiring. Leftover materials from the building's construction, most likely. And there was a spare set of keys hanging on the inside of the door, Janssen saw. He snatched them up immediately, before going back to the gate.

"Try those." He passed them to O'Neill through the small cutaway where the padlock was. O'Neill began to try each key in turn, before about three later he found the correct one. The padlock fell open, and he pushed open the gate just enough to allow himself through. He glanced about the empty parking lot, seemingly unimpressed at what he saw.

"This looks like it could be a big waste of time," he said. Janssen took the keys from him and turned his attention to the building's front entrance, a glass door that appeared to lead into the main office.

Janssen walked up to the door and pushed on it. Naturally, this was locked as well. With the keys in one hand, he began to try each one in the lock on the front, before his second attempt found him the correct one. Security seemed lax here, yet at the same time he could almost feel the lens of the security camera within the parking lot watching him. It was as if it was burning into his back, but surely, if the place was empty, no one would be watching the surveillance feeds? They probably were not even switched on. Unless, of course, the feeds were being transmitted to somewhere off-site.

The inside of the building was quiet and empty. The office was what they passed through first, a sparse reception area with a desk that was bare. From there, a short corridor, and this took them onto the main warehouse floor. Every other room they passed on the way was empty, save for the odd chair or desk. The whole place had been cleaned out, which only made the fact that McClintock had been calling it all the stranger. Both men worked their way through the building carefully, and Janssen half-expected an alarm to start sounding as soon as they entered the warehouse floor.

Here, in the centre of the open expanse, were a set of tables. Power cables snaked from computers and other devices that were set upon them. A single chair was in the middle of it all, as well as about three telephones of differing colours. As Janssen neared this elaborate setup, he recognized one of the larger devices to be a form of telephone exchange. Numerous wires snaked from it, running off to sockets on the surrounding walls. A bank of computer servers was nearby, humming quietly as they carried out whatever tasks they had been programmed with. There were even a few portable fans here, no doubt to help keep all the equipment cool.

"This is new," Jack remarked, as they approached. "There must be something like one-hundred thousand dollar's worth of equipment here."

"More than that," Janssen said. "But no one's here." He walked up to the set of telephones and picked one up. Putting it to his ear, he heard, as expected, the continuous low tone of an inactive phone. Nothing to be learned from there, so he set it down and regarded the rest of the equipment with a mix of curiosity and general bemusement. What was going on here?

The quiet of the warehouse was broken suddenly by the sound of a phone ringing. It caused Janssen to jump a little, and he glanced over at O'Neill, who he noticed had tensed up a little at the sound. The phone in question was a grey one, placed next to the one Janssen had just picked up. Before the General could even consider reaching for it, the ringing stopped with a loud _click_ as something on the exchange took over. Beeps sounded out, and a 'recording' light appeared on the receiver. Through the speaker, Janssen heard a familiar voice, and for a second there he thought that it was directed at him.

"_It's McClintock. There might be a problem with the General."_ Janssen realised then that the voice was not speaking to him. Rather, this setup served as a glorified exchange, bouncing the phone call from here to somewhere else. A means to throw off any traces, Janssen figured.

"_Nothing serious. Just that he's sticking his nose in and he's beginning to put himself in the way of things. I've tried to rein him in…"_ He trailed off, and Janssen wished that he could hear the other voice. _"Okay. I understand."_ With that, McClintock hung up. The 'recording' light switched off, and the whole system fell quiet.

Janssen glanced over to Jack, who looked as worried as he did.

"If there was ever any doubt," the retired General said, "There isn't anymore. Someone's up to no good, and it sounds as if they don't like you much. In my experience, the people who stick their noses in where they don't belong usually aren't the popular ones."

"I didn't take this job to become 'popular', Jack." Janssen looked to the server tower. It was a typical setup, with the banks of hard drives and modems set within a tall metal cabinet with a glass face. "We need to get to the bottom of this. Whatever 'it' is." He looked about for something, anything that might help him here. His eyes went to the single chair, a cheap-looking one with metal legs. Sturdy enough for his purposes, he figured, as he picked it up with both hands. Jack watched him carefully, unsure of what to make of this action, at least until Janssen reared it back and sent the metal legs crashing into the front of the server tower.

Glass shattered loudly, shards falling down around the General. Dropping the chair to one side, Janssen reached into the cabinet and put his hands around one of the hard drives. It was small, but capable of carrying a few terabytes of data. The wonders of computer technology, getting smaller each year but greater in capacity.

"Better than nothing," he said to Jack.

The pair turned around and made their way for the exit. Another surveillance camera sat in the corner of the hallway, and this time Janssen could see the small green light that was switched on under the lens. As he walked by it, he felt an increasingly sinking feeling work its way through his gut. The whole situation stunk to high heaven, he knew this much, and making off with a hard drive seemed like a sure-fire way to get the attention of whoever owned this place. They had come here half-cocked and uncertain of what they would find. To Janssen, they had walked right into the middle of some kind of conspiracy, and in typical fashion they had barely any answers to show for their efforts.

"You got a plan?" Jack asked, as they stepped back outside. Here, Janssen stopped to close and lock the door, at least that way the place would appear to be relatively normal (and, most importantly, _not_ broken into).

"I might cash in some annual leave," Janssen said, a warm breeze wafting through the parking lot as they crossed it. "Try and get to the bottom of this."

"If you need me for anything, I'll happily help."

"That's much appreciated, Jack." Janssen looked to the older man, getting the impression that even if Janssen did not ask for his help, he was going to get it anyway. Jack was intrigued by what was going on here, and he would work as hard as Janssen did to get to the bottom of it. Given Jack's sway within the Air Force, even after some years of retirement, Janssen felt confident that a few answers could be dredged up eventually. His first concern was with the people left behind. He had already sent word to Major Gordon Wade of the USS _Midway_ to divert to the world where Ra's fortress was located. It could be days before they got there, and thus days before they could determine exactly what had happened to that team. If they were all dead, then God help the people behind McClintock…

The pair stepped out onto the sidewalk. There, they were immediately set upon by four uniformed police officers. Two police cars were parked outside, lights flashing but no sirens. Janssen did not resist as the officers manhandled him, as he knew right away that putting up a fight would only make things worse. They were rough, and part of him resented being shoved around as if he were some common criminal. He found himself getting shoved face-first onto the front of a police car, with the hard drive he had 'liberated' from inside the warehouse being snatched from his grasp.

As for Jack, he was pushed against the fence, hands pulled behind his back.

"Hey, easy there." His protests were ignored, as the officers promptly handcuffed the pair. They hardly uttered a word, which seemed odd, as usually officers were expected to read an arrestee their rights.

"I'm a General in the United States Air Force," Janssen said, as he was pulled back up onto his feet, hands bound behind his back. The door on one of the police cruisers was pulled open, and he found himself being barrelled into the backseat. "Whatever this is about, I'm sure we can talk it over." None of the officers replied. Janssen was instead shut-up in the backseat, with Jack being carted over to the other car. As soon as he was in, two of the officers entered the front, with one starting the engine without preamble. The whole thing happened far too quickly for Janssen's liking, and as the car started to move, he got the impression that he was not headed for the local station. Maybe somewhere else and off-the-books, and his eyes managed one last glance at the gate of the warehouse and the surveillance camera overwatching it. Someone was pulling the strings here, and Janssen was kind of hoping he would get to meet them. At least then he had some small chance of gaining some proper answers.


	25. The Sword of Calshara

**The Sword of Calshara**

The cruiser that Joanne and the others had found themselves upon was of the 'spearhead'-class, one of many heavily-armed and armoured vessels at the disposal of the Calsharan space-fleet. Built from strong alloys and armoured in just about every spot one could find upon it, the vessel's class was named such for their appearance, and for their role in a battle. Such ships would lead the charge in a fight and were intended to breakthrough enemy formations, paving the way for the lighter frigates and fighters. This was a vessel built for war, and in English its name would have roughly translated to _Sword of Calshara_. A flagship of the core Calsharan space-fleet, the weapons it carried would be enough to send even the likes of the Goa'uld running for cover.

It was the pride of the fleet, newly commissioned. And its commander, Fleet Commander Rila Cassalis, was a prideful female at that. A Calsharan female averaged, when compared to their male counterparts, at a slightly shorter height with a somewhat lighter frame. Whereas the males were broad-shouldered and iron-hard muscle, females such as Cassalis carried athletic, agile bodies. In the case of Cassalis, who would have been roughly thirty in human terms, her skin tone was a light grey, her eyes a pale orange and her uniform all black and snug upon her lithe frame. Silver trimmings ran down the shoulders and chest of it, and the grey rank insignia at the soldiers denoted her high station. There were a noticeable pair of bumps at her chest, which some might have found odd on a seemingly 'reptilian' alien; that was the key word in this case: 'alien'. The normal rules of Earthbound reptiles did not necessarily apply to an extra-terrestrial.

Seated at her desk within her office, nestled in the heart of the cruiser, she had her eyes set upon the holographic displays lining the far wall. Surveillance feeds from around the ship, all of them, and she could switch between cameras at the push of a button. Her office was large, as were her adjoining living quarters, the grey walls adorned with décor from home. Shields, swords and crests from their world's medieval past; a few framed paintings depicting ancient battles, and a number of small statues carved from stone left to her by her ancestors. Behind her desk was a large painting, depicting a battle on a barren landscape where scores of Calsharan soldiers in older suits of armour rallied around a central figure. In this painting, the central figure was more of an interpretation, as no real records of their true appearance existed anymore. Visala was a legend to her people, a myth even, who had appeared when they had been besieged by a great enemy more than one-thousand years ago. She had united them and turned the tide, so they said. There were some who worshipped her religiously, but Cassalis was not one of them.

Her eyes went to one of the surveillance feeds, from a camera in the ship's brig. Only one cell was occupied for now, and in it, a single lone figure in a flowing grey coat and armoured vest. They had picked up that stowaway a few systems over, one of the few Nomads that Cassalis herself had encountered. What he had been doing so far from home, she did not know. But it had struck her as an odd coincidence, that this stowaway had been found not long before they had arrived at the world where Corasar had been lost on. And, in turn, tracked the escaping Goa'uld bomber and its unusual crew from.

That was the next thing that drew her attention: the Goa'uld bomber crew. All five were in quarantine at the moment, each one in a separate cell. Her eyes went to the Calsharan amongst them, who was lounging on the single bunk in his isolation chamber. Valkas Kavellan, the young Sergeant they had thought lost with Corasar. Here he was, consorting with humans. Disappointing, to say the least, not when one considered the general well-regard of the Kavellan family back home.

And then she looked at the others, displayed in crystal clear quality by the sophisticated surveillance technology of her people. The humans, four of them, one of them wounded. She figured the older one with the black hair and slightly more wizened appearance to be the one in charge.

The door of her office slid open then, and her gaze went to the burly male who walked inside. He was clad in a black uniform of the ground forces, his rank being that of a Lieutenant (if one was to consider it in Earth terms). He oversaw the ground infantry stationed on board and had been since the ship had been commissioned several months ago.

"Commander?" The male stopped before her desk and snapped off a salute. Yellow eyes regarded her with keen attention.

"Lieutenant Kavellan," the Fleet Commander said. "Toron Kavellan. You might have heard of the ship we found?" She nodded in the direction of the surveillance feeds. "Four humans on board, plus one of our own."

Toron relaxed then, and he followed her gaze. His eyes went over the five surveillance feeds in question, floating off of the wall from the projectors set upon it. They settled upon the lone Calsharan among the group, and a look of recognition flashed across his face.

"Your brother, I believe?" Cassalis asked.

"_Younger_ brother." Toron had an exemplary record. In comparison, his brother had been an underachiever at best. Whereas Toron had risen the ranks fairly quickly, his brother had seemingly been content to wallow about in the rank-and-file. That had made him expendable, so putting him on the mission with Corasar had probably seemed a good idea at the time. "I thought he was dead."

"Apparently not. And he's picked up some new friends." Cassalis rose from her chair and walked up alongside him, eyes surveying the five surveillance feeds and the five individuals shown through them. "They were fleeing from the world where Corasar was sent. Your brother, the Sergeant, was sent with him. A secret mission, and it took some time for the ruling council to decide on sending a recovery team. That's why we came out here."

"He would have been better off dead." Contempt seeped into Toron's voice. "His failure smears the family name."

"Yes, that is unfortunate. The Kavellans were always very well-regarded back home. I took the liberty to peruse your brother's file; he's an underachiever, through-and-through. Rebellious, even. Had he the level of sense you did, he would be an officer by now." Cassalis put a finger to the display showing the human male, tall and dark-haired, his face slightly weathered with age. He had to be at least middle-aged, or close to it. "I suspect he's the one in charge. Once they're cleared from quarantine, I intend to question all of them."

"I'd be more than happy to assist, Commander."

"I was hoping you would say that." Cassalis smirked. Toron had proven himself reliable time and again, not to mention he was a particularly attractive male at that. Having someone like him at her beck and call was very useful. "The Goa'uld System Lord Ra had a fortress on that planet. Someone destroyed the entire thing. Left nothing more than an irradiated crater. And these five were the only ones to escape. Judging from their uniforms, they aren't like any other human culture we've run into. But I do have an idea of where they might have come from, if the rumours are to be believed."

Toron turned to her, one brow-ridge raised in curiosity.

"The Tau'ri." Cassalis had done her research. "The First World, from whence humans as a species originated. Forgotten to history after the Goa'uld abandoned it, they have apparently become a minor power in galactic affairs. It was their handiwork that saw the downfall of the System Lords. Given the fact that they are less advanced than we are, I find myself very curious as to how they could have achieved such ends."

"Do you wish to interrogate them?" Toron clasped his hands behind his back, standing straight and tall. A military posture that had been hammered into him from a young age.

"Indeed. Corasar was sent to search for items that Ra stole from our people centuries ago. I suspect that these items were lost when the fortress was destroyed, as the ship these five arrived in was searched thoroughly. Nothing of interest was found." She glanced at the chronometer on the wall. "They should be cleared from quarantine within the hour. I'd like to start with the one in charge. You can concern yourself with your brother, and…" She trailed off, as she thought of what else Toron could do to assist her. She pointed to the wounded human female, lying on the single bunk in her isolation cell. "Offer her our assistance. I want to play this carefully, and I do not wish to antagonise these humans. If they are of the Tau'ri, then it would be in our best interests to find out all we possibly can before we make a decision."

"A decision on what, exactly?" Toron must have had some inkling of what she meant, and the look in his eyes suggested as much. Still, it would have been improper not to answer.

"A decision on whether they are a threat to our people," Cassalis said. "And to our plans. The fact that we found that Nomad in the same sector of space cannot be a coincidence."

"What should I tell my brother?"

"The truth. Be honest with him. His prospects are slim, if he were to come back home. And since he's consorted with these humans, I suspect there would be enough evidence to consider him a traitor and a spy. Hardly the kind of scandal you'd want your family to be saddled with." She leaned her head a little closer to him, her voice lowering to almost conspiratorial tones. "It would have been better for him, and for your family, had he truly been dead."

* * *

They were in quarantine. This much John had gathered. The stark white cell, the single air-vent which audibly pumped in purified air. The door ahead was comprised of a transparent, glass-like material, and he could see Daniel in the cell across the narrow hallway. He was slouched against his bunk, having had even his notepad taken from him. Pen as well, as these aliens must have considered it a dangerous weapon. Now and then they exchanged looks, gestures even, but any sound they made was completely stopped by the walls around them.

John suspected the others were in the cells on either side of them. They had been in here for what felt like hours, and this was after they had been sprayed down by some foamy chemical that had saturated their clothes and left them all feeling a little chilly. He was dry now, although the chemical-infused disinfectant smell lingered. He supposed this was preferable to reeking of raw sewerage, as he and the others had been for the past couple of days. The things he had do to for his country.

Two armoured aliens appeared outside his cell then. Both were in the full black armour of a Calsharan soldier, their faces concealed behind sleek black-metal helmets and stark golden visors. The door of the isolation cell slid open, and both soldiers stepped inside. One of them gestured to him in what he took to be the universal gesture to 'come with', and John, seeing no other alternative, did just that. He fell into step behind the two, as they left the cell and took him down the hallway. He could only assume that whatever quarantine period had been in place was over, and that now he might finally get some answers.

He was taken through an automatic door and into a greyer, more utilitarian corridor not too unlike those to be found on one of Earth's star-ships. They passed by a few terminals in the walls, sophisticated holographic ones with alien writing scrolling along them. Advanced even when compared to those given to them by the Asgard, which John thought was worth making a mental note of.

Coming to the end of the corridor, he was bundled into a sparse grey room bathed in the white glow of a single fixture in the ceiling above. Seated at the table was a Calsharan of a slim build, dressed in a snug black uniform adorned with silver highlights and bearing what John took to be commendation ribbons of some variety, not too unlike what one might find on the dress uniform of an officer from an Earth military. This Calsharan lacked the stubby bony spikes that could be found on Valkas' scalp and jawline. Instead, this one's head was adorned with a crest of blue feathers, perhaps hinting at some kind of avian ancestry far back along the evolutionary line.

"Sit down." The Calsharan's voice was light, if a little raspy. John noticed a small device at its collar, little more than a silver rectangular box no larger than his thumb. A translator? Perhaps. Or a communicator of some kind. A recording device, even. Or all three. He had no idea.

"I apologise for keeping you in quarantine for so long, but it was a necessary precaution. One can never be so certain what you people might be carrying." The inflection she added to the term '_you people'_ rubbed John the wrong way. It certainly did not make for a positive first impression. He half-wanted to counter with the phrase, 'What do you mean, _you people_?' However, he decided against it, as this hardly seemed an appropriate time for such a reference.

The pair of soldiers who had escorted him here took up position at the wall behind him. The door slid shut, and he heard a quiet _clunk_ as it locked. John's eyes settled on what he had come to realise was a female Calsharan, and his first thought went to those on his team.

"What are you going to do with us?" He asked her.

"Your friends?" The female Calsharan leaned back in her seat, calm and relaxed. Even casual, John thought. "They'll be escorted to the brig, for now. Partly for their own security, and partly for _ours_." She paused, eyeing him carefully. Pale orange eyes, which John thought contained a hint of something less-than-friendly, despite her attempt at an affable exterior.

"What do you call yourself?" The Calsharan asked. "I am Fleet Commander Rila Cassalis. I assumed you to be the ranking officer in your group."

"I am Colonel John Sheppard, with the United States Air Force. And yes, I am the ranking officer." He was not going to say much more than that. He sure could not trust these aliens, especially if they happened to be more advanced. There was a risk to Earth here he could not overlook, no matter how much charm this Fleet Commander managed to lay on him. "I have to say, you took us by surprise. You, and your, ah, _impressive_, ship."

"The _Sword of Calshara_ is the pride of the fleet." And, much like what she said, pride did seep into her voice as she spoke. "The first of several cruisers of its class, outfitted with the latest in offensive and defensive systems."

"We could have used a few of these when we were fighting the Goa'uld." John gently tested the waters here. Cassalis wanted to learn about him, so in turn, he would try and tease whatever information he could out of her.

"The Goa'uld?" Cassalis nodded her head. "Yes, I have heard the stories about the humans from the Tau'ri. The first world. 'Earth', you call it?" She smirked then, although John thought it did not appear as a terribly honest smirk. "Such an odd name for a planet. May as well call it 'Dirt'."

"Yeah, well, what we call our planet isn't of any concern to you." John leaned forwards a little, aware that the two soldiers behind him visibly tensed. Cassalis glanced up at them, giving a small wave of her hand as if to signal them to relax.

"Of course not. What is of concern to me, Colonel Sheppard, is what you were doing fleeing from Ra's planet. A planet that my people sent a reconnaissance team to some time ago. A team that included a friend of yours, Valkas Kavellan."

"We were running away from some bad guys," John replied. "Some serious bad guys. Weird looking aliens with a grudge against humans. Maybe you know them?" It was worth a shot, bringing them up. "Tall, red shells. Exoskeletons, I mean. They don't so much as 'talk' as they do 'snarl'. You wouldn't happen to know who they are?"

Cassalis's eyes narrowed and she slowly shook her head. John, for the life of him, could not tell if she was being genuine or not.

"Well, my friends and I were on our way back to Earth. You see, we have reason to believe that these bad aliens, these bad hombres, are going to launch an attack. An attack I want to stop." John took a breath, aware that he had been growing a little bit impassioned as he spoke. The fact of the matter was, he and his team were the only ones aware of the threat to Earth. They likely had very little time to get back and warn the people there, General Janssen and the SGC, even the US government as a whole.

"That sounds troubling, Colonel." Cassalis did not sound 'troubled' at all. Curious, certainly. But what happened to Earth was not any of her concern. "You have to understand the way I see it, however. Valkas Kavellan no doubt informed you of his mission to Ra's fortress, and of what could be found there. Technology thought lost and forgotten, but capable of some truly remarkable feats. Sergeant Valkas broke many rules giving you that information."

"You're worried about him?" John sighed. Something told him he would be here a while. "Valkas was wounded when my people found him. He provided information to us in exchange for comfortable living conditions and cable TV. He was convinced that going home would only get him in serious trouble anyway, so I'd say he figured he had nothing to lose. Surely you can understand that?"

Cassalis's tone became more serious then, and her expression hardened into a frown. It was a look John did not like at all.

"With all due respect, Colonel, but we don't know each other. Our peoples have never encountered one another until now. Certainly, we've run into more primitive human cultures about the galaxy, transplanted there by the Goa'uld thousands of years in the past. But humans from Earth? We know you only by reputation, and that reputation is one of meddling and outright theft. From what I've learned, from a variety of sources, your people have advanced themselves with alien technology that you may not have necessarily had the right or the skill to take and use for yourselves. And that, to me, is troubling. The fact that Valkas aided you in a quest for further advanced technology only compounds that issue."

John knew that this was going to turn ugly. Right then and there, he knew that whatever relationship the people of Earth managed to develop with the Calsharans, it would not be a wholly positive one. Diplomacy had never been his strong suit; if anything, Daniel Jackson would have been the one in his team to have the skills necessary to defuse this situation. Yet, he was not here right now, and instead it was John Sheppard who was saddled with being questioned by the alien commander, one whom had seemingly already made her decision about him and his people.

John was reminded of the Genii, in a way, and how things had gone with them back in the Pegasus Galaxy years before. Paranoid and militaristic, for every bit of help they might have offered the Atlantis expedition, it had often been balanced out by a hostile action in turn. Except here and now, the Calsharans were advanced enough to be a serious threat. The Genii, on the other hand, not so much. At least Earth had had the technological edge over them.

Having seen this cruiser from the outside, John tried to imagine what a tussle between it and a ship like the _Odyssey_ might have been like, and who might have come out on top. What worried him was the uncertainty he had of that scenario. This cruiser had outright pulled them out of hyperspace, which would have been no easy feat. What other things could it achieve, that even Earth-made star-ships would have had difficulty doing?

"You think we're a threat?" John asked, his voice level.

"It is my duty to protect my people," Cassalis stated, her voice carrying a similar neutrality. "And that includes investigating potential threats. Your people have a reputation, Colonel. A reputation that concerns me greatly."

"You think, what exactly?" John frowned. "That we're going to just declare war on you?"

"I have to take into consideration any possible threat to my people, Colonel Sheppard. No matter how remote it may be. There is a reason the Calsharan people have prospered for a thousand years, and it is because of our careful nature. Not to mention our strength and unity."

"Right." This Fleet Commander was beginning to sound like a propagandist. Did they play that 'strength and unity' stuff on public broadcasts back on her home-world? John would not be surprised if they did. Already, he could picture the vast screens, the futuristic skyline, the Nuremberg-style rallies. Something in the reports about Valkas had struck him as interesting, if a little besides the point. Someone, one of the interviewers most likely, had mentioned that Valkas had said something to the effect of his people being 'military-minded', in the service of some 'great leader'. And the interviewer had, as could be expected of a government bureaucrat not entirely in-touch with the real world, had likened this to Nazi Germany. It was a far conclusion to jump to, and John had not bought into it. Now, however, he was beginning to see why that interviewer might have thought the way they did.

"For all your fancy battleships and guns, just where have you been the last twenty years?" John thought it was worth a try, to get some answers here. "Earth fought the Goa'uld, and the Ori. Not to mention the Lucian Alliance. Your people seem powerful, so I'm just wondering why not once did we ever run into you folks during those battles."

"The fights you people picked with those hostile forces were not our problem." Cassalis narrowed her orange eyes, as if attempting to discern if John had some ulterior motive for asking about this. Nothing ulterior on his part, just straight-up curiosity.

"We usually keep to ourselves," Cassalis continued. "We forced the Goa'uld out of our territory centuries ago. And the Ori? They never ventured to any of our worlds. Perhaps we were simply overlooked. The Calsharan Union of United Systems is out-of-the-way of most other galactic powers. As for the Lucian Alliance, we put a stop to their attempts to expand their criminal enterprises into our territory. Not only that, but we hunted down their leaders and put an end to them as well."

"Your saying you wiped them out?"

Cassalis gave a light shrug of the shoulders, an oddly human gesture.

"Maybe we did. I'm sure there are still pockets of them lurking in some seedy underbelly somewhere in the galaxy. Understand, Colonel Sheppard, the galaxy is a vast place. Not even a galactic power such as the Goa'uld had been able to cover even a quarter of it at their peak."

"Yeah, I know all about that." John was trying to work her out. What did she want? There was something more here, and it occurred to him that she was trying very hard to discern how much of a threat he might have been to her. How much of a threat him, his team and the rest of humanity might have been. And, in turn, John was already coming to the conclusion that if it came to a fight with the Calsharans, then there would be trouble. Far more than anyone on Earth might have been used to, given how long it had been since they had last been in a major battle against a space-faring foe.

"What next?" John asked her. "What are you going to do with us?"

"With you?" Cassalis appeared to give the matter some careful thought. "We'll keep you and your team detained, for now."

"I told you, we haven't got time…"

"Your presence on Ra's fortress planet is troubling," Cassalis interrupted, somewhat forcefully. "Not to mention the way in which Sergeant Valkas has liaised with your people, and freely shared sensitive information. We searched your ship and found nothing that could have been among the items thought to be kept within that fortress' armoury…"

"Because those aliens I told you about took the good stuff." It was John's turn to interrupt, and from the mean way in which her eyes fell upon him, Cassalis did not appreciate it. She was a woman who was used to being in control, no doubt because of her rank and the power it gave her. However, John was not under her command. He could interrupt her and be as insubordinate as he wanted to with her, and he risked as much now.

"They're going to attack my home-world, and you're going to lock me up?" John rose from his chair. He allowed his growing frustration to come through in his voice, making it clear to Cassalis that he was not going to back down, no matter how important she was or what she might threaten him with. Hardly a good first impression, especially given this was, at its core, a 'first contact' scenario. There were all sorts of protocols in place for those, and John was aware he was breaking several of them with the way he was behaving now. There was more at stake here, and at the forefront of his mind was the imminent attack on Earth. Sure, maybe they had a few days, a week even, before the Field Marshall got his resources together. More than that, however, was highly unlikely. That was one alien who would carry out his threats, and with Tollan technology at his disposal it was easy to imagine to kind of havoc he might cause. Easy to imagine but frightening at the same time.

"I haven't got time for this bullshit," John snapped. Cassalis continued to glare at him, orange eyes focused firmly upon his own. He glared down at her in turn, determined to outdo her piercing stare. "I, and my team, are going to get off this ship. We're no threat to you. All we want to do is get home. Keeping us here is only going to turn us into one."

"You admit that you're a threat to the Calsharan people?" Cassalis sounded almost pleased at the insinuation. John was not surprised; she had made up her mind long before meeting him. Nothing he said could change it.

"I'm saying that keeping us here is the wrong first impression to make."

Cassalis continued staring at him. Without saying anything more, she simply raised one hand and gestured to the two guards standing at the wall behind John. Before he could react, he heard the two of them step forwards, and both grabbed his arms in their powerful, vice-like grips. There was little he could do as they pulled him from the interrogation room, and once again he found himself being taken to a cell. At least this time it was not some dingy dungeon.

* * *

"Hello, brother."

Valkas was surprised to hear this voice. He had been sitting in his cell for a good ten minutes, joined by Joanne who had been thrown in with her. It was little more than a glorified rectangular box, the front of it seemingly wide-open to the corridor outside, but Valkas knew there was a rather painful energy field keeping them locked inside. The room was cast in a white glow, the walls plain and grey. Only one bunk was present, despite the two prisoners within.

The brig was somewhere in the bowels of the ship, out-of-the-way of anything important. While Joanne loitered in one corner, no doubt stewing over their latest predicament, Valkas had settled himself on the floor against one wall, eyes straight ahead as his mind went over every mistake he had made the last few weeks. And this latest one, falling in the hands of his own people after everything he had done, and his failure on the mission with Corasar.

"Who the hell are you?" Joanne, direct as always, shot an unwelcoming gaze towards the uniformed Calsharan male standing outside their cell. Somewhere nearby, Daniel was cooped up in a similar cell, although he had come upon some interesting company in there, from what Valkas had been able to overhear. And then Natalia, also out of sight, was sprawled on the bunk in her own cell, alone unlike the others. Granted, if John was brought back, he would probably be thrown in with her.

Valkas rose to his feet. He smelled of disinfectant, as did the rest of the team. A result of their decontamination. At least his clothes were clean, now.

"This is my brother, Toron," Valkas said, glancing back at Joanne. He gestured towards his fellow Calsharan for emphasis, managing a smile that was very blatantly sarcastic. Valkas settled his eyes upon his older brother, who was about an inch taller than he was. A good three years his senior, Toron stood with a military straightness and wore a look on his face that was very familiar to Valkas: disappointment. Except this time around, it was a whole new level of disappointment, if that were even possible.

"I did not believe you could stoop any lower," Toron said. "Yet here you are, consorting with humans, sharing information with them. Do you believe they can be trusted?"

"More than I can trust you," Valkas countered. "What are you doing here, anyway?"

"I'm here because I was assigned to this vessel," Toron replied. "The pride of the fleet. Unlike you, I actually carry out my duty to the fullest of my ability, and that is why I have become an officer and you have not. And that's why I'm here, posted to a prestigious vessel."

"High and mighty as always, Toron." Valkas snorted in derision. Nearby, Joanne stood quietly, listening closely, and more than likely picking up on the hostility between the pair. "For all your achievements, it was I, and not you, who was put on the secret mission to Ra's fortress. Surely that must irk you to some extent?"

Toron was silent for a moment, as he considered this. There was no hint of irritation in his expression, which did disappoint Valkas, as he had always done what he could to get a rise out of his normally stoic older brother.

"You were chosen because you were expendable," Toron said suddenly. He was being blunt about it, and Valkas was hit with a sinking feeling. Sure, he probably should have figured this out himself, but he had refused to believe it. At least, up until Corasar had so easily left him behind to the Goa'uld. For the weeks of his imprisonment there, Valkas had found himself cursing Corasar's name during the hours he had spent stewing in the dungeon between routine beatings and torture sessions. From what John had told him, Corasar had met a suitably grisly end for his trouble. Valkas wished that he had been there to see him finally get it.

"Don't tell me you did not even consider that possibility once, brother?" Toron quirked a brow-ridge, having seen the dour look that had crossed Valkas' face. "A reconnaissance mission, off-the-books and known only to a select few officers, required individuals who were not important in the grand scheme of things, but also trained and experienced in what they did. Corasar was a reliable officer, and well-aware of the risks involved. You were an expendable asset, as he was. If you both perished on the mission, then the whole thing would be covered up and the two of you listed as casualties of war, details withheld." He spoke all this matter-of-factly. He cared not for the wellbeing of his younger brother; Valkas had been too much of a burden on the family name for Toron to hold any serious liking for him.

"It would have simplified matters if you had died on the mission."

Valkas gave his older brother a harsh scowl. Behind him, he heard Joanne step forwards. Arms crossed over her chest, the look on her face spoke volumes. She was barely holding in her anger, and her eyes glared daggers at Toron.

"Just what are you playing at?" She demanded, speaking through gritted teeth. "He's your brother, for Christ's sake. Don't you Calsharans care about family?"

"That's just it, human." Toron looked to her, and then back to Valkas. "My brother cared not for the family, if his past conduct is anything to go by. Time and again, he was involved in scandals that besmirched the family name. Insubordination, recklessness on the field, not to mention his outspoken views concerning how we should govern ourselves. It was a wonder he even made it to Sergeant. And now he's gone a step further and consorted with the humans of the Tau'ri."

"You know about us?" Joanne stepped right up to the threshold of the cell, just short of where the energy barrier was situated. Valkas was surprised himself to hear that apparently his people were aware of the humans of Earth. He supposed it was not surprising, as he had been too low on the hierarchy to have access to more privileged information.

"We know enough." Toron met her inquiring gaze with something much colder. "We've had our eyes on your people for a long time." He then shifted his attention back to Valkas. "As for you, brother, I will attempt to persuade the Fleet Commander to spare you. It is the least I can do, for family."

"Spare him?" Joanne's brow shot upwards in alarm. "What? Are you going to kill him?"

Valkas had expected as much. He said nothing, and instead levelled a harsh glare towards his older brother.

"That is undecided," Toron said. "But it is likely." He did not offer them anything more than that. Instead, he turned around and walked away, leaving his brother to ponder what had been said. There was not much to think over, Valkas knew, just the fact that his life hung in the balance, reliant upon what the Fleet Commander decided.

"They can't kill you," Joanne said, once Toron had left. Valkas turned to face her, and the concern on his face gave Joanne the answer she had not wanted. "They can do that? What for?"

"I shared sensitive information with an alien power," Valkas explained. "That alone is grounds for a treason charge. They don't trust your people, Joanne. Most of my kind, especially those in power, do not trust easy."

"Treason?" Joanne's eyes widened. "They're going to execute you for treason?"

"It's likely." Valkas was not sure how he should feel. Frightened, maybe? He had not been afraid of much, not even during his childhood, and he was not about to become afraid of his possible execution. That would give far too much satisfaction to those who ordered it, and he was sure to deny them of that.

"We have to stop them."

"How so?" Valkas gestured about their cell. "We're in here, and they're not going to let us out. They're going to question you and the others, and they're going to get increasingly unfriendly about it. I give it only a few days before they start using more forceful methods of 'interrogation' to learn as much about you, and of your people, as possible."

Joanne shook her head. She could hardly believe their predicament.

"We need to get out of here, and we need to get back to Earth. That's all that matters."

"And I'll be more than happy to tag along." There would be nothing good for him back home, and that's if they did not kill him beforehand. "As you can probably tell, I'm not too keen on getting back with my own people."


	26. Unofficial Business

**Unofficial Business  
**March 31st, 2022

It was not the police station that General Janssen had been taken to. Rather, some office in a far corner of Denver, where he and Jack O'Neill had been escorted through a rear entrance and into a plain grey room, illuminated by a fluorescent light above them and populated with a long metal table and a handful of chairs around it. There were no windows, just a metal door and an air vent in the ceiling above. Nearby, a surveillance camera watched them from a corner. It was also likely recording their audio, not that Jack seemed too concerned. He looked outright relaxed, seated at the head of the table, tapping his fingers absently upon the tabletop.

A man in the uniform of a police officer walked in at one point during the pair's waiting, and he set in the middle of the table a plate of doughnuts. This was joined with a pair of glasses and a jug of water. A thoughtful enough gesture, Janssen thought, although not one he had been expecting.

Jack's eyes lit up when he saw the plate of doughnuts. As the officer left the room, he reached over the table and pulled the plate towards him. Janssen watched him, one brow quirked slightly in curiosity.

"It's a test," Jack said, as he settled the plate before him. There were several different kinds of doughnuts set upon it; pink icing, brown icing, yellow icing, powdered and even one both powdered and cream-filled. Jack picked up this one, holding it up for emphasis as he gave it a once-over. "They're testing our guilt. We don't eat any of these, they're going to know we're guilty."

"I don't think that's how it works…"

"Maybe. But I'm starving." He bit into the doughnut, cream oozing out of the hole on the top of it. "Who do you think these guys are?" He spoke between bites, thoughtful enough to not talk with his mouth full. Jack was oddly relaxed for someone who had just been arrested, even more so when one took into account the fact that the cops who had brought them here may not have been regular cops.

"They looked like cops—"

"But they weren't. That's the thing. We're dealing with something else here." Jack finished off the cream-filled doughnut, before he looked about for a napkin. That was one thing missing from the offered items, so he used his sleeve instead. Janssen watched him, unsure of what to make of the man and his apparent nonchalance.

"Aren't you even a little bit upset?" Janssen asked him. "I dragged you into this, and now we could be in serious trouble."

"But we're not. I don't think we are. Whatever's going on at the SGC, it doesn't strike me as the kind of conspiracy I've run into before."

"How can you be so sure?"

Jack gave a light shrug of the shoulders. He picked up the doughnut with the pink icing, taking a moment to deliberate over whether he should or not. For a man in his seventies, Jack's sweet-tooth was still well intact. So were his teeth, for that matter. He bit into the doughnut then, the look in his eyes suggesting he very much enjoyed it.

"These are good," he remarked, once he had swallowed his current portion. "Is the shop they got these from around here? Because I'm going to need more of these before I head home."

The door into the room opened then and there, with Jack finishing off the pink-iced doughnut in a hurry. His mouth was still full when the visitor entered, tall and serious, dressed in a black uniform of sorts that was free of any discernible markings. It did not strike Janssen immediately as military, more akin to something a private contractor might wear. Right away, he felt ill-at-ease, and he watched the man as he sidled up to the table and regarded both of them with a firm, suspicious gaze.

He had to be in his thirties, with close-cropped black hair and piercing blue eyes. Clean-shaven, with a posture that suggested a military mindset. He was armed, with a pistol in a holster at his waist. Hands in front, he leaned against the table, alternating his increasingly piercing gaze between the two of them. An attempt at intimidation, Janssen reckoned, not that it would work. Jack, currently, was still chewing on what was essentially a whole doughnut he had stuffed into his mouth. This had caused his cheeks to bulge somewhat, and he looked practically comical as he returned the visitor's harsh look with a much more innocent one.

"You know you can't hold us here," Janssen said, breaking the awkward silence that had fallen over the room. The man turned to him and directed that hard gaze his way. Janssen refused to give him the satisfaction of even being slightly intimidated by it, and instead remained stalwart. "I'm a General in the United States Air Force. What you're doing, it's illegal. Maybe if we were at an actual police station you might have some ground to detain us, but even then, you would need to press charges."

The man seemed to consider his words, and the expression on his face softened, ever so slightly.

"General Floyd Janssen," the man said, his voice level. Calm and collected, he did not sound as severe as his expression suggested. "You've been sticking your nose into things above your pay-grade."

"All I found was an empty warehouse…"

"With a computer that you attempted to steal the hard drive from." No doubt to prove his point, he reached into a pocket on his uniform and retrieved the hard drive in question. He placed it upon the table, within reach of Janssen, as if to taunt him with it. "Trust me when I say that there's little on there that would have helped you."

Jack gulped down what was left of his doughnut. The slight noise was enough to turn the visitor's attention towards him.

"Retired General Jack O'Neill." The man shook his head, as if disappointed. "Shouldn't you be off somewhere, fishing or playing golf?"

"I got bored." Jack gave an innocent shrug. "When Floyd there suggested we go break-in to your warehouse, I couldn't refuse."

"Of course." The visitor sounded as if he had been expecting such a response. "You two are lucky, in the sense that you're both fairly well-known individuals. Once we figured out it was the two of you in that warehouse, we thought it better we move in and take a non-lethal approach."

"Non-lethal?" Janssen caught the man's eye again, and he thought he saw something dangerous in that gaze. Something that suggested, right then and there, that had anyone else broken in, they might not have received this 'light' treatment.

"You're here, you're both unharmed and you no doubt have many questions. I may be able to answer some of them, but certainly not all."

"You want to be helpful?" Janssen did not believe this, and his incredulity was apparent in his voice. "We break-in to your 'empty' warehouse and you want to be nice to us?"

"I want to clear up any misunderstandings," the visitor replied.

"You appear to know the two of us very well." Jack was the one to say this, and he gestured with one hand between the two of them. "But what do we call you? I was thinking something like 'Fred', unless you've come up with something better?"

The visitor frowned, as if in thought. After a pause, he spoke: "You may call me 'Holt'."

"First name or last?"

"It doesn't matter."

Jack pointed a finger to the plate of doughnuts.

"Where did you get those? Because they're delicious, I'll tell you that. Is there a shop around here? Some small, modest family business? I'm all for supporting small business…"

"Where they're from is irrelevant, Jack." Holt was quick to interrupt him, most likely aware of the man's reputation at being irreverent and doing all he could to annoy those he did not think highly of. "I'd suggest you concern yourself with the matter at hand."

"Which is what, exactly?" Janssen asked this, drawing the man's gaze again. "Because from what I can tell, your fake police officers have arrested two individuals with significant pull in the United States Air Force for breaking into an empty warehouse. Hardly sounds like something that would fly well on an official report, don't you think? Certainly, you don't want it to become known that the warehouse was not entirely empty? I get the impression that you want to keep what was going on in there quiet." He tried to gauge Holt's reaction to these questions, hoping to find some kind of chink in his tough exterior, an attempt to bring him down a peg. Perhaps even turn this situation around entirely.

"What I think, General, is that you're more than a little annoyed that your position at the SGC has been undermined. That's why you went on your little trip, taking advantage of your position to trace the phone calls of Darren McClintock to that warehouse. Calls that were made on a secure, encrypted line so that people such as yourself could not eavesdrop. There are some things even beyond your security clearance, General."

"Like what?" Janssen wanted answers. He _needed_ them, especially after what had happened to Colonel Sheppard and his team. Indeed, what _had_ happened to them? Were they dead? Or prisoners of some unknown alien foe?

"I can't answer that." Holt's voice was tight, and he meant what he said.

"But why give control to someone like McClintock?" Janssen asked. "I don't care how secretive it is, what you're doing, but McClintock has not got the talents or the experience to run Stargate Command. He's a bureaucrat, through-and-through, and does not command the respect of the airmen stationed there."

"McClintock is a tool," Holt countered. "He does as he's told, as should you. Even I have my orders. We all take orders from someone."

"Not me," Jack announced, from his spot at the table. Holt did his best to ignore the man. It did not work completely, as there was a slight twitch at his brow that Janssen saw, one that suggested that he was at least a little irritated by him.

"You still have your position at the SGC," Holt continued. "You still have command of the military forces there. I suggest that you go back there and carry out your duties. Continue as you would normally."

"Your 'tool', McClintock, forced me to abandon people off-world." There was no point dallying around the obvious here: Holt was 'in-the-know' on the stargate program, and from what Janssen could gather, he also knew much more than he was letting on. If anything, Janssen was the one in the dark here, and it irritated him to no end. "I won't let this matter rest until those people are found."

"McClintock took his orders seriously," Holt replied. "As he was supposed to. The stargate program will remain on hold for the time being, as it's usefulness is re-evaluated."

Jack scoffed from his place at the table, and his face scrunched up with annoyance.

"The stargate program is the most _useful_ thing we've got!" His usually upbeat voice had become hard, laced with contempt. "You can't just turn it off."

"There are other projects that require our resources," Holt said.

"You mean funding?" Janssen could already see the picture forming in his mind now, the pieces starting to fall together. McClintock was a 'tool', in more ways than one. A means to bring the stargate program to a hold, with the official reason being attributed to reevaluation by the IOA. Holt, from what Janssen figured, was not from the IOA. "Where's it all going, Holt? I think I deserve to know."

"General or not, where the money goes is the concern of our benefactors in the government, not yours. Your job is to carry out your duties and follow your orders like a good soldier." Holt spoke in such a way that suggested any attempt at arguing would be futile. He would not give further details, not here and certainly not to someone like Janssen.

"Who was McClintock calling?" Janssen pushed on the offensive, and he saw Holt bristle at the question. "Was he calling you? Are you his boss? Because I'm taking a stab in the dark here, but you sure don't strike me as someone from the IOA. Black ops, maybe. Even a private contractor. But bureaucrat?" Janssen laughed. Now this did get him a hard glare from Holt, not that he was fazed by it.

"You ask too many questions, General."

"Is that a threat?"

"No." Holt's voice was level, his face turning a hard neutral. "Just an observation."

Janssen pointed a harsh finger at the man, allowing some of his growing frustration to boil over.

"How about you allow me to do my job, then?" He demanded. "I can't do it when you have McClintock outright stepping in my path and ordering me to leave people behind. That is inexcusable. We never leave people behind."

"Sometimes things don't go the way you planned," Holt stated, his voice dry. Jack perked up then, his stance on the matter well-known.

"No one gets left behind. No one." He rose from his chair, scowling daggers Holt's way. In a move that surprised Janssen, Jack walked right up to the man, almost putting them nose-to-nose. "I don't know what fancy projects you have going that somehow make the stargate irrelevant, but it doesn't change the fact that there is a team still out there. We can't just write them off. General Janssen needs to be able to do his job, and that means he needs to be able to recover those missing people."

"Don't come up in my face, Jack." Holt's eyes were set in a stare that could break a thousand yards and then some. However, Jack met it in turn, years of experience honing his face into something that could make an angry dog go running scared.

"Tell your man to get out of the General's way." Here were two men who would not back down. Janssen felt a tension in the air that had not been there before, and it was almost tangible in the way it lingered between the old General and the younger operative.

"I heard about what happened. Sheppard's team was under attack from a hostile alien species. We can't risk drawing their attention to Earth…"

"A friend of mine was on that team. Two friends, if you count Sheppard. He and I haven't spoken in years, but I like to think of him as a friend." Jack's eyes remained fixed on Holt's own. Nearby, Janssen remained still, watching the pair with mounting concern. Things could escalate, and the whole situation would turn far nastier than Janssen felt it needed to.

"If either of them are dead, then I'm going to hold you personally responsible." Jack prodded a finger into Holt's chest. The younger man did not appreciate this at all, but he said nothing. He just continued to match Jack's stare with his own. "I may be retired, but I will happily put aside my leisure time and devote every waking hour of my day to bringing you, and whoever you work for, down."

"Sounds like a threat, Jack." Holt swallowed, as if aware that he had met with a man he knew he could not beat. Jack had a reputation, a history and considerable respect. Not to mention influence, the kind of influence that Janssen could only ever dream of. "You want to go and play hero? Fine. I'll have McClintock back off. But if anything happens that puts Earth's security at risk—"

"Yeah, yeah, you'll make my life hell. Janssen's too. Maybe put us in prison?" Jack rolled his eyes, finally breaking the stand-off. He relaxed, as if a switch had been flicked, and he turned to Janssen. "What do you think, General? We give it a shot?"

"No reason why we shouldn't." Janssen rose from his chair, stretching his legs. Holt's face had turned into an expression of bare neutrality, but there was something else in his eyes. Anger, perhaps? Something negative, for sure. A definite dislike of the two men he was faced with, no doubt.

"Great." Jack motioned to the door. "Let's blow this joint. Looks like we'll have to take a cab, since I bet Holt here won't let us borrow a car."

Holt did not reply. Instead, he turned around and went for the door. Jack looked pleased with himself as he watched the man leave. Holt opened the door and stepped out into the corridor, and Janssen followed him. Jack came out after him, a hand sliding into a pocket on his trousers as he emerged. Janssen noticed the movement but thought little of it. Instead, his attention went to the pair of uniformed 'police officers' who met them in the hall.

"These two will escort you to your car," Holt said, from where he stood nearby. "Keep in mind what I said. If this situation with your friends blows up—"

"I'm well aware of what you're likely to do on an excuse like that," Janssen interrupted. "You brought us here to scare us off, but you should have known that neither of us are easily intimidated. I'll have no choice but to pursue my own line of investigation, once the situation with my missing team is rectified."

"You can do that." Holt sounded very sure of himself. "But you won't get far."

"Maybe. But I think I got far enough today, didn't I?" Janssen knew that he was playing with fire here. He might have been a General, but he could see that Holt and whoever he represented had a far reach. Here, he had won only a small victory. Whatever would come next was likely to be far more difficult.

"Come on, General." Jack started to walk down the hall. The two fake cops followed him. "No need to rub it in. I'm sure Holt will include all of this in whatever report he has to write for his superiors. And I bet he'll have nothing good to say about either of us."

Janssen went after Jack, leaving Holt to his own thoughts. The man, whether he be from some black ops organisation, or a private contractor, watched them leave through narrowed eyes. Janssen got the feeling that he had made an enemy, but at the end of the day all that mattered was getting back that missing team. As sombre a thought as it was, Janssen knew that it was likely they were dead. And those deaths would be on him. It came with the territory, not that it made him feel any better to think of it in this way.

Jack's car was parked in the alley at the back of the building. The 'cops' here had been kind enough to bring it from the warehouse. Both of the fake officers stood near it as the pair climbed into the vehicle, with Jack offering the driver's seat to Janssen. Once he was settled into the chair and Jack was seated next to him, Janssen started the engine, for the keys were sitting in the ignition. He sent them out of the alley and onto the road beyond, mostly empty given the quiet corner of town they were situated in. Janssen was glad to put Holt and his band of suspicious police officers behind him. Now, though, his mind was abuzz with a number of unanswered questions and the increasingly powerful urge to investigate them.

The funding once intended for the stargate program was going somewhere else, that much was clear, and it was not all to the star-ships that had been constructed the past several years. There was something else, something much greater.

With the non-descript building and its shady characters falling further behind them, an unusually quiet Jack O'Neill reached into his pocket and retrieved a familiar item. Janssen saw it in his peripheral vision, and as he brought the car to a stop at a red traffic light, he was able to turn towards it to confirm it was what he thought it was.

"I give it ten minutes before Holt realises it's gone," Jack said, as he held up the stolen hard drive. "We pissed him off enough he didn't even notice me take it."

"He said there was nothing helpful on there."

"I call bullshit on that." Jack shook his head, as he slid the hard drive back into his pocket. "It's worth taking a look at." He paused for a moment, considering what else to add. "If you don't mind, I'd like to go back to the SGC with you."

"You're retired, Jack…"

"Just say I'm your advisor or something. I'm sure it'll be enough." Jack was not the kind of man Janssen was going to argue with. If he wanted to join him back at Stargate Command, advisor or otherwise, then Janssen would bring him along. Besides, he would rather have Jack O'Neill working with him there, than a man like McClintock. Or, worse yet, Holt.


	27. Man on a Mission

**Man on a Mission**

The brig on a Calsharan vessel, even for one of this size, was not particularly large. On any star-ship, actual living space was at a premium. One did not waste space (that is, space within the ship and not the black void outside of it) with luxury suites, unless they were as arrogant and self-absorbed as a Goa'uld System Lord. Even with that in mind, detainment cells on a Calsharan vessel were few and far between, if only because of the harsh discipline that the Calsharan military instilled within its soldiers. Those who stepped out of line might be locked up, although execution tended to serve as a much simpler method of taking care of a problem. Such incidents were very rare, a testament to the discipline and, in a way, outright indoctrination of the Calsharan soldiers stationed on such vessels. As for taking actual prisoners, it was not something those vaguely-reptilian humanoids did much of.

Daniel Jackson had the feeling that in his case, and that of the others, they were unique. John had so far been dragged off to be interrogated, and whether he had been returned Daniel could not tell. He could only see so much from inside the cell, and even then he had become distracted by his odd cellmate.

"A human." The voice, deep and refined, greeted him as he was escorted into the cell. A pair of bright purple eyes looked at him, black pupils meeting with his own. Beneath a grey hood he was watched, and the bipedal alien occupying the cell sat up as he was greeted by this newest arrival. He was tall, broad-shouldered and, for a moment there, Daniel thought he was a Calsharan. However, upon taking a closer look, Daniel realised that this was no Calsharan. The skin of his bare hands and face did not bear any scales and was instead a deep blue in colour. Not to mention the bright purple eyes that seemed to glow faintly, unlike those of a more reptilian appearance on the Calsharans Daniel had seen so far.

"Who are you?" Daniel settled himself upon the single small bench jutting from the wall on his right. Behind him, a force-field crackled into life over the threshold of the cell. Two cells in as many days, Daniel mused; his luck had been especially poor the past seventy-two hours or so. Was it a record, for him to get locked up in two different cells in such a short amount of time? It must have been, when he thought about it. All those times spent in the custody of the Goa'uld, or the Ori, or some other alien foe, yet here it appeared that his luck was even worse now than it had been back then.

"Me?" The alien used one hand to pull back his hood. His overall outfit was of a long, grey jacket, likely made of some fabric not found on Earth. It was dirty in places, bearing scorch marks and tears here and there that suggested a recent history of physical violence. His lower half was covered in a set of baggy trousers, and his feet were enveloped in a set of heavy black boots. Travelling wear, Daniel thought, the kind one might outfit themselves with if they were to go hiking a great distance.

As for the alien's face, it was close to human. Almost, save for the deep blue skin, the purple eyes and the visible pointed canines that jutted slightly over his bottom lip. Daniel was reminded of a vampire, and he realised that he was yet to meet a blood-sucking alien. It would not surprise him if this here was one, given all the other crazy stuff he had run into over the years.

The ears on this alien were large and pointed, reminiscent of something one might find in a fantasy game of some sort. There was no hair on his head, no eyebrows either. So, human-like, more so than the Calsharans were, but still different. Daniel had run into his fair share of alien species, and he had been to hundreds of other planets, yet he had never seen this particular race before.

"I am a traveller," the alien replied.

"So am I." Daniel had to contain that growing sense of excitement he often got when discovering something new firsthand. All the questions that had sprung up in his mind threatened to spill out of him in one incomprehensible jumble. As it stood, he had to carefully rein it all in, especially now since they had only just met. For all he knew, this alien might just up and eat him then and there. Not a pleasant thought, and certainly not one he needed right now.

"My name is Daniel Jackson." He held out a hand, offering it to his mysterious cellmate. The alien looked curiously at the offered hand for a moment, before he placed his own six-digited hand upon it. He got the message, and seemed to understand the gesture, as Daniel gently shook it with him. "I can't say I've encountered your species before."

The alien released his hand and, for one fleeting second, appeared to smile. It was a blink-and-miss-it gesture, but Daniel saw it and right away he felt considerably more relaxed. Nonetheless, he was still very much uncertain as to this latest encounter.

"Not many have." When Daniel had walked in, he had thought that perhaps the alien had been asleep. He had been seated on the bunk, back against the wall, head down and eyes closed. However, it had occurred to Daniel that he had instead been meditating. This was still a guess on his part, but it seemed likely.

"But I have seen plenty of humans." The alien leaned his head forwards, eyes regarding Daniel with noticeable curiosity. "You are not like those others. Most of them, they lived in primitive conditions. Many without electricity."

"How do you know I'm not like them?"

The alien let out an amused huff, and he reached out again, this time pointing a finger to Daniel's glasses.

"Vision-aiding tools such as the one you wear are not common in those primitive cultures," the alien stated. He then gestured to the uniform Daniel wore, still reeking of whatever powerful disinfectant the Calsharans had hit him with during the decontamination. Much of the dirt and blood that had been smeared on it had gone. Now, instead of filth it had been thoroughly creased and wrinkled.

"Your clothing, a uniform. Manufactured, no less. It bears the appearance of a garment made by machine, and no simple hand-cranked sewing machine either." He then put a finger close to the shoulder patch, where the symbol of Stargate Command was displayed. "And, of course, the most obvious sign that you are not like the others I have encountered. A military symbol, representative of your home-world, bearing the mark of the first world. Up until some time ago, the first world was thought to be a legend. Obviously, there is a great deal of truth behind that legend. And it is no wonder that a world left untouched by galactic tyrants for so long has advanced on its own by a considerable extent."

Daniel had to admit, he was amazed by this alien's perceptive abilities. That, or he simply knew more than he was letting on. Despite his situation, locked up on this ship with a bunch of not-so-friendly aliens, Daniel could at least take some solace in the fact that he had been brought here, before this alien, whatever he was. It was something to distract him from his increasingly dire circumstances, at least until someone somewhere came up with a plan to get out of here. Certainly, no grand escape plans came to his mind then, and the cell was as bare as one could imagine it. With some horror, he realised that he could not see a toilet anywhere. Then it occurred to him that he was sitting on it.

"My name is Aithris." The alien leaned back where he sat, relaxing against the wall. "As you can see, I am as much a guest here as you are."

"You know where I'm from." Daniel paused, considering what next to ask. "What about you?"

"My home-world is long gone," Aithris explained. "The Calsharans call my people 'Nomads'. There aren't many of us, and we are spread thin across the far reaches of the galaxy."

"I'm sorry to hear that." Again, so many questions. He figured that he may as well start with the most pertinent one: "Why are you here?"

There was no telling how old the alien was, yet as he sat back and considered the question, Daniel felt as if he could see decades of weariness flash through his bright purple eyes. Aithris was seemingly going through every event that had led him to this point, replaying them all in his mind in the space of mere seconds.

"As I said, I am a traveller, one searching for certain answers. And for certain people." His eyes settled upon Daniel as he said this. Was he implying something there? He left it vague enough to go either way, but for the briefest moment Daniel felt as if Aithris was referring to him. "The Calsharans, I believe, may be on a similar path. That would explain why I came across them. Their natural distrust of anyone not like them made the cellblock here a guaranteed set of accommodations during my stay with them."

"You know them?"

"To an extent." Aithris hit Daniel with a scrutinising eye. He appeared to be doing his utmost to work out exactly what he was. Human, sure, and from Earth; more than that, Aithris did not know. Or at least, he really should not have known.

"You are a learned individual, Daniel Jackson." This remark caught Daniel a little off-guard. Something in the alien's eyes suggested keen interest. Perhaps Aithris was a kindred spirit, in this regard; a scholar, similar to Daniel. It was worth a try, taking that approach.

"What makes you say that?"

"The manner in which you speak, and the manner in which you carry yourself. I am a bit of a scholar myself, although of no one field in particular. I dabble, as you might say."

"I'm an archaeologist," Daniel replied. "I study the past. Ancient history, mostly. I analyse arefacts and ancient texts."

Aithris nodded his head in acknowledgement. He appeared almost pleased by this fact, and he leaned forwards somewhat, his eyes beaming at Daniel intently.

"I think such talents will prove useful in the near future. I myself was searching for some sign that what had been foretold was to come true."

"Foretold?" Daniel quirked an eyebrow. "What do you mean? You're going to have to explain this to me, Aithris, because this is the first of heard of anything 'foretold'."

"It's more in line with the history of my people," Aithris replied. "And, from what I have discovered, it also ties to the Calsharans as well. You see, they may be a militaristic people, and very advanced, but they have always been isolationists. They would stick to their small cluster of star systems and rarely expand any further than that. In fact, I don't think they've expanded for centuries. They have plenty of living room on their worlds, and plenty of resources in which to construct the kind of vessel you see around you. Vast, powerful and built expressly for war."

"I have to admit, in all my travels I never found any sign of the Calsharans. No writings, no images, no mention of them." Daniel picked through his many memories of the many worlds he had visited, and the aliens he had run into over the years. Again, nothing about the Calsharans turned up. "Yet they're powerful, that much is obvious. The galaxy is a pretty big place, so I can't say it's unusual that I haven't run into them."

"They're looking for weapons, Daniel Jackson." Aithris' voice was grim. "Because they're concerned that there is a war coming. And, looking back on the old writings from my own people, I have come to believe that they may be correct."

"What kind of war?" More questions, so few answers. Daniel supposed that it was to be expected, judging from past experiences. "With who?"

"Less 'who', more 'what'." Now Aithris had Daniel's full, undivided attention. Any concerns he had, about the Field Marshall and his forces, had suddenly been thrown to the wayside. "Centuries ago, my people and the Calsharans were close allies. It's a history that has been mostly lost over the years, mainly because of the destruction of our home-world."

"Did the Calsharans…?"

"No, it was not their doing." Aithris shook his head. "They may be extreme, but obliterating entire worlds is out of character, even for them. My ancestors saved some of our writings, in an attempt to preserve our history. That history has been passed down through the generations, and I am the latest in a long line of custodians of my people's past records. I study the past, as you do, and as an archaeologist I suspect you would be very interested by some of the artefacts I have in my possession."

"I would be…"

"They are hidden away, far from this ship." Aithris gave a wry smile. "I could not risk such treasures falling into the hands of the Calsharans."

There was a pause. Daniel glanced to the corridor outside, where a single Calsharan guard in full armour strode on by, going along his patrol. Aithris eyed the passing alien with noticeable wariness, and he waited until the guard was well ahead before he continued speaking.

"Even the Calsharans, with all their technology, are afraid of the old, great enemy." Aithris reached into a pocket on his jacket, and from inside he retrieved a small, black disc-shaped object. It had a smooth, glazed surface, appearing more as polished stone than anything artificial. It was scraped and burnt in places, as if the item had been through all sorts of trouble. The item was small enough to fit in the palm of his hand, and Daniel watched him hold it out before him with significant curiosity.

"Why are you telling me all of this?" A pertinent question, and one that had been darting about in Daniel's mind since he had started talking with this mysterious alien. Aithris' red eyes met with his own, and there was a sincerity in there that Daniel had not been expecting.

"Partly because I need your assistance to escape," Aithris said. "Partly because I have heard of the humans of the Tau'ri, and that they are capable of many great feats. I believe that your people would be a more suitable ally in the coming conflict than the Calsharans." With a slight movement of one finger upon the device, a hologram appeared. It extended from the disc, floating several inches above it, mostly blue and transparent, coming in at about a foot in width. Daniel gazed upon it, unsure at first of what he was looking at. And then, as he regarded the whole image, he realised then that he was looking at a representation of the galaxy as a whole, brimming with stars and carrying with it the signature spiral shape that he had seen many times in many astronomy textbooks.

"They did not confiscate this, thankfully," Aithris said. "If only because I insisted that it was a harmless trinket, with sentimental value only to me. Which is true, partially. But it is also one of the items that was placed into my protection by my predecessors."

"Is that our galaxy?"

"Yes it is." Aithris pushed some unseen button on the device, causing the image to change. Red lights began to spring up all over the three-dimensional map of the galaxy, often with many piling upon one another. Several seconds later, and the galaxy was practically full of these little red dots.

"Are those…?"

"Stargates." Aithris used his free hand to point at one section, along one of the farthest reaches of the galaxy. "Look closely."

Daniel did as he was instructed, and he leaned forwards, eyes going to the section indicated by Aithris. He saw it immediately: the red dots were much sparser here, and there was a noticeable stretch of which they were absent. He could only wonder just what kind of accuracy this device might have had, or even who had created it to begin with. Would the Ancients have done so? Or had someone else, someone with an intimate knowledge of the stargate network?

"Is this thing accurate?" Daniel asked.

"My predecessors have treated it as accurate for centuries," Aithris replied. "I have no reason to doubt its authenticity. I believe this device was left behind by those who built the stargates, but I cannot be certain of that."

"I've known that the stargates were all over our galaxy," Daniel said.

"Which is why their absence in that one stretch of space is so obvious."

Daniel had never been able to see a visual representation of the stargate network in quite this way before. Even those stargate addresses that had been derived from the Ancient database had not covered every inch of the galaxy. It was not unreasonable to believe that there were holes in that coverage, and apparently even this device, as ancient as it might have been, was not fully comprehensive.

"My people call this unpopulated stretch 'the valley of darkness'." Aithris switched off the device and placed it back into his jacket. "It runs to the very edge of our galaxy. From what I have learned, it is traversable by starship, but for whatever reason there are no stargates present within. Either that, or the stargates present have all been disabled somehow."

"Who would disable all those stargates?" Now this was the kind of mystery he could lose himself in. It would certainly beat wallowing in his own misery whilst locked up in this cell. A means to distract himself, and a most welcome means at that. "Because if that's the case, then that would mean that someone has gone to the conscious effort to do so. Could it have been the Ancients?"

"Perhaps. None of my people have been able to determine the exact cause of this anomaly. However, we have a good idea as to why it is present."

Should Daniel believe all of this? Here was an alien he had never seen before, speaking about a 'coming war', as if he was some kind of prophet. Still, Daniel had always kept an open-mind, and he had seen and been involved with enough crazy things to not write off anything, no matter how far-fetched, without a proper examination. And what Aithris was telling him deserved more than an 'examination'.

"The great enemy, Daniel Jackson." Aithris sat back against the wall, hands on in his lap. "Little over a thousand years ago they tore through the fringes of the galaxy. They swept out of the 'valley' and into the surrounding space. That included my people's home-world, not to mention the home star system of the Calsharans."

Daniel remembered what Valkas had told him, back at Stargate Command. An aside about an old legend, Visala, who had united his people at their time of greatest need. Fighting a 'great enemy' would have certainly qualified as such a time. The only question was, who was this 'enemy'? Because Daniel could only think about just how full their plate was now, without adding further alien nasties to it. The Field Marshall and his people were one thing, but this? Was it connected, even?

Daniel ran a hand through his hair, as he thought it over. It deserved to be researched, and he would make it a priority when he got back to Earth. That was the real problem for him, right now. Getting home, when he was locked up on a Calsharan military vessel with his future unknown.

"Visala," Daniel said. Aithris nodded, seemingly pleased that the human had some knowledge on the matter.

"That is correct. She united the Calsharan people and they were able to turn the tide against this foe. They were aided by others, of course. First and foremost being my people, who at that time still had a home-world."

"What kind of 'enemy' are we talking about?" Daniel asked. "The Goa'uld? Replicators? Something else?"

Aithris did not reply straight away. His expression turned grim, especially when Daniel mentioned the last possibility.

"Nothing you would be familiar with, I suspect. Most records my people had of them have been lost. As for the Calsharans, they are not ones to share knowledge. What they know of the great enemy is likely a closely-guarded secret."

"You don't know anything about them?"

"I have never encountered them, personally. No one has, for centuries. But they are in that 'valley', Daniel. I fear travelling into that place would only provoke them to a repeat of their previous attempt to ravage our galaxy."

If this was true, then Daniel and the rest of humanity may have owed the Calsharans a debt, if they had indeed been the ones to stop this 'enemy'. Whoever they were, whatever they were, Daniel needed to know more. And the only way he would find out what he wanted to know was if he got out of this cell, for starters. Aithris watched him carefully, and it occurred to Daniel that all manner of emotions had played out across his face in rapid succession. Wonder, frustration, fear, anger; Aithris appeared almost amused by this.

"You want our help to escape?" Daniel asked the alien.

"Not only to escape, but to ensure that the enemy never returns." Aithris' eyes narrowed; his voice became grim. "I cannot trust the Calsharans. Whatever good they might have done centuries ago has so far been outweighed by their increasingly brutal attitudes towards other races. For my mission, I will require the assistance of the humans of the Tau'ri."

"You'll get whatever help you need." Maybe it was premature, making a promise like that. However, if there was any truth to what Aithris was talking about, then Daniel was sure that the people back home would help in any way they could.

The other extreme was that this alien was just making it all up, and Daniel was allowing himself to fall into whatever crazy crusade Aithris had in mind. Whatever possibility, Daniel figured he had nothing to lose. At least, nothing other than his life, and he was very much partial to that.

* * *

John Sheppard found himself thrown into a cell not long after his conversation with Fleet Commander Cassalis. The whole conversation played again and again in his mind, in particular the suggestion that Cassalis had no intention of letting him, or any of his team, go. They were to be held indefinitely, and had the SGC not abandoned them, then Cassalis would have been inviting warfare. Now, however, John and his team were MIA and no one was actively looking for them. They had been abandoned, all because of some political power play back home. Not only that, but Earth was at risk from an alien with a vendetta and the technological superiority to fulfill it.

John felt compelled to punch a wall. Instead, he turned around to face the armoured Calsharan soldier who had thrown him into the cell. The soldier hit a few keys on a nearby control panel, causing an energy field to crackle into life over the threshold of the cell. There was a flash of blue before it established itself, becoming invisible to the naked eye. The Calsharan soldier, his face concealed behind a black helmet and golden visor, seemed to regard the Colonel briefly and with a slight tilt of his head. John stared daggers his way, not that this fazed the alien. Without a word, the Calsharan turned around and sauntered off, leaving John to stew in his own immense frustration.

John was not alone. He turned back around, eyes going to Natalia, who was lying on the cell's single bunk. Her legs were stretched out before her, and despite the hole that had been shot through her left kneecap, she appeared to be in better shape now than she had been earlier.

"Colonel," she said, turning to him. The relief in her eyes vanished as soon as she saw the anger etched on his face. "What happened?"

"We're stuck here," John said simply. "Unless we can figure out a way to escape. I've been on my share of alien ships, but never a Calsharan one." He looked about the bare cell and noted its complete lack of any discernible loose items. Other than what he and Natalia had on them, which was little save for the clothing they wore, the room was bereft of anything useful. A small air vent was set in the ceiling, no larger than his own hand-span, so squeezing through the ventilation system was out of the question.

"What do they want with us?" Natalia asked. She was sitting back against the wall, her face slightly scrunched up as pain went through her leg. It was a consistent, harsh throbbing, a sensation that only became worse with any substantial movement.

"I don't know, exactly." John's eyes went to the only other 'seat' in the cell, a smaller one that was connected to the wall. As he neared it, the top of it opened up to reveal a small opening about the size of his fist. A toilet, he surmised. Crawling out of here through that was very clearly out of the question.

"They think we're a threat," John added. He sat down on the 'toilet', taking the opportunity to stretch his limbs. He ached all over, a sign of exhaustion. He had pushed himself too hard. To make matters worse, he had so far been unable to get a decent amount of sleep since they had left Earth for Ra's fortress. Given the accommodations here, it was unlikely that he would get any decent sleep in the near future. "From what I can tell, they're paranoid and untrustworthy. They also don't seem to like humans much in general. That's what I got from their commander."

"That's it? They're going to hold us here because they don't trust us?"

John shrugged. He knew as little as she did on the subject.

"Like I said, I don't know what they want." John turned to the corridor visible through the opening ahead, aware of the force field that barred him from leaving the cell. There had to be a way out of here, somewhere, somehow. There was always a way, he knew this from experience. No matter how bad things appeared to get, all it took was a little determination and improvisation to get around it. Even now, when he was trapped in a sparse cell with no discernible exit on his end.

"Can you walk?" John asked, and he turned to the Sergeant. It was a harsh question, he knew this, for there was little chance that Natalia's injury would allow her to do so. However, he had to be sure, and he could tell from the determined look in the woman's eyes that she wanted her response to be true.

"I can manage. Why?"

"Because we're going to have to get out of here," John replied. He knew that if Natalia started moving on her wound, it would likely get worse. Yet he sure could not leave her here. Whatever happened, her getting out of here with him would be one of those obstacles they would have to overcome when the time came. Again, improvisation. It was a cornerstone of the job.

"We can't linger here. Earth's at risk, and these lizards aren't going to let us free anytime soon." John rose to his feet and took a step towards the threshold of the cell, one hand going to where the force-field was. He could feel it, just on the tips of his fingers, right before he touched it completely. A slight tingling, that would no doubt become a sharp jolt if he moved his hand any further.

"We're going to breakout?" Natalia sounded a little uncertain. "But sir, won't we be making enemies of these people?"

"They're already making enemies out of us," John countered. There was a guard out in the corridor, in full armour, pacing back-and-forth on his assigned patrol. He went by the cell then, his helmeted head turning to regard John coldly. Nothing could be made of the Calsharan's face underneath the black helmet and visor, although John thought he detected some contempt from the alien's overall demeanour. Nonetheless, he went on by without giving the human a second thought.

"No reason to not follow through," John added. Something told him that it was a thought that would come back to bite him in the ass later, but for now his mind was made. They were getting out of here, somehow, even if it meant jumping the guard if he came in for whatever reason. It probably would not work, but for John Sheppard it was so far the best he could come up with given the circumstances.


	28. Meanwhile, Back at the Ranch

**Meanwhile, Back at the Ranch…  
**March 31st, 2022

Evening fell, and General Floyd Janssen found himself eating dinner alone in his quarters at the SGC. It had been a long day, and a strange one at that, if what he had experienced had not been some unusual dream. A conspiracy was afoot, and there was no other way to describe it. 'Conspiracy' suggested something outlandish and untrue, in most circles, but here and now it was the genuine truth and Janssen found that he hated it. He hated knowing that the government he had spent years serving was actively attempting to undermine him, even if it was just a small subset of powerful individuals behind it. For now, they had backed off, all the more evident in the way McClintock was no longer hovering over his every activity and decision here at Stargate Command. There was no doubt in his mind that he was still being surveilled, just far less blatantly.

As for the missing team, there was little he could do since the stargate to Ra's fortress was inaccessible. He had already put word through to Major Wade of the USS _Midway_ to head there, but it would be days before they reached that far corner of the galaxy, and something told Janssen that the results were unlikely to be good. If the stargate was buried or destroyed, then what did that suggest of the fate of Sheppard and the rest of the team? Incinerated in some explosion, perhaps? It had been a long while since Janssen had needed to inform the families of those killed-in-action of the loss of their loved ones, and it was a job that never got any easier. He knew Captain Bowers' father personally; he had no desire to tell that man that his daughter, and only child, had been killed on some faraway planet, burned to a crisp or buried under rubble, the remains inaccessible or simply _not there_ to be recovered.

Could McClintock be blamed for that? He had been acting on orders from much higher-up. Janssen found that he could not hate the man, not completely. McClintock was a tool, as that creep, Holt, had said. A third party under contract, more or less. It was not the IOA who was behind whatever was going on, it was someone else. Some other group, one that Janssen had never heard of, although he very much intended to find out as much as he could. Starting with that hard drive O'Neill had snatched out from under the nose of Holt and his cronies.

That hard drive was in the computer lab being examined. Janssen was not particularly good with computers, so he left it in the hands of the younger, much more technically-minded computer scientists they had working here. It had been a few hours since they had started to examine it, so it seemed likely that soon enough they would have something for him…

One of the three phones on the desk began to ring. It was the black one, used for in-base communications. There was a grey one next to it which was used exclusively for outside calls, and finally a red phone at the corner of the desk which connected straight to the White House. One perk of being in charge here, was that you had an open line to the commander-in-chief himself.

Janssen picked up the ringing black phone, hearing the voice of one of the computer technicians.

"You got something? Great. I'll be right down." Janssen placed the phone back in its housing and rose from his chair. His half-eaten bowl of chicken soup could wait a while, as he made his way from his office, through the conference room and out into the halls of Stargate Command. At this hour, things were fairly quiet, and only a handful of personnel were out and about. Janssen worked his way up a level or two, coming to one of the small laboratory areas that were often rearranged and put to use on one project or another. The latest setup was a simple computer area, currently occupied by a pair of lab-coated young men working at a pair of laptop computers on the central workbench. Both looked up as the General entered, hurriedly bringing themselves up out of their chairs in an effort to stand to attention. Janssen could see the stolen hard drive placed upon the workbench, wires running off of it to one of the computers.

"General, sir." One of the technicians, a somewhat chubby man who looked to be in his thirties, offered a haphazard salute despite his position as a civilian here. Janssen walked around the bench to look at the laptop screen, curious to see what he could discern. What met him there was a stream of seemingly incomprehensible data. The other technician tapped some commands into the keyboard, and the screen changed to something a little more decipherable. A few pages of what appeared to be government documents of some sort appeared, and Janssen noticed that the whole bunch of them appeared to be in a jumbled mess. Not one page lead into the other, as if it were a random cluster of pages from a number of different documents.

"We've gone through what's on the hard drive," the technician said, as Janssen regarded the laptop screen. "I believe what might have happened was when it was disconnected, some kind of failsafe triggered that corrupted a lot of the documents. My colleague and I have been trying to salvage what we can, and those pages you see now are the ones we've got intact."

"You make any sense of what's there?" Janssen asked. As he spoke, he heard footsteps coming up the corridor. They stopped at the doorway. He looked up, seeing Jack O'Neill standing there, peering into the room with some curiosity. He was dressed in a plain green BDU, free of any rank insignia given the fact that he was retired. He was an 'advisor' now, and when McClintock had seen the man walk into Stargate Command the look on his face had been priceless. He had run off to his office, no doubt to call his superiors, not that it would help much in this case.

"What we've got are some technical documents and a few detailed letters," the technician replied. "Most of it's pretty vague. Something about a 'Project Broadsword', and from what we've been able to gather it sounds as if it could be some kind of new ship, maybe?" He shrugged, uncertain. Janssen squinted at the screen, using the mouse to scroll through the recovered pages. He could see what the technician meant, as there were numerous mentions of this 'Project', but the actual details were slim.

"So, what's the deal?" Jack walked in, sidling up alongside General Janssen. "Anything we can use to blow this thing wide-open?"

"Unfortunately, no." Janssen looked up, eyes meeting with Jack's. "Something about 'Project Broadsword'. That's nothing familiar to you, is it, Jack?"

"I've been out of the loop for too long, General." Jack shook his head. "I'm not the guy to ask, when it comes to shady government projects."

"I guess that explains where the money's going," Janssen said. "Whatever this 'Project Broadsword' is, it must need a lot of funding. More than the usual star-ships, which might suggest that it's a lot bigger and complicated than something like the _Odyssey_."

Jack peered at the screen, as if willing it to give him more answers. None came, and instead he gave Janssen a disappointed look.

"No address to the secret compound where this thing is being built?" Jack asked.

"Unfortunately, no." The technician spoke again, getting the pair's attention. "We can keep trying to recover more, but whatever happened when the hard drive disconnected really scrambled the information being stored on it. I could spend weeks trying to dig up everything."

"Then spend weeks on it," Janssen ordered. "I want everything you can give me."

The technician appeared uncertain for a moment, but nodded his head in acknowledgement nonetheless. The other technician, a slim man with a set of thick-rimmed glasses over his eyes, spoke up then and he sounded a little uneasy.

"What about McClintock, General? I understand that we're doing this without his approval…"

"Let me worry about McClintock. You two just continue doing what you're doing. You've done a good job so far." Janssen gave the two techs a reassuring smile before he started for the exit, with Jack following behind him. Leaving the two computer experts to their work, Janssen and Jack started down the hallway, quiet as it was at this evening hour. It felt good, to have someone like Jack around to provide support. Janssen had not known the man personally for long, but he certainly knew of his reputation. And in a place like the SGC, focus of political powerplays and the like, reputation often counted for a lot.

"You had dinner yet?" Jack asked. Janssen thought the question a little odd. "I was just down in the mess hall, thought I'd try the mash." He shook his head, as the pair rounded a corner. "The textures all wrong, Floyd. Those Yukon Golds just aren't the same."

"Really? I hadn't noticed."

"Yes, really." There was a pause, and the two of them stopped to one side of the corridor. There was no one else about here, save for the single airman standing guard at the far end. It seemed a good spot for a talk, without worrying about being overheard. Janssen leaned a little closer to Jack, keeping his voice low so that only he could hear.

"What do you think, Jack?" Janssen asked him.

"What do I think?" Jack gave a light shrug. "I think too much has changed, Floyd. And I don't like it. When I was here, with SG-1, it wasn't so easy for the politicians to come in and mess things around. Now?" His face scrunched up with irritation. "I certainly don't feel as if I belong here. And I know you feel the same way."

"They want public disclosure," Janssen said. "That's the plan. That's why McClintock was sent in to take over. Change things up, make things 'friendlier', give the whole program a civilian face instead of an old General at the forefront."

"You think so?"

"I did. But now…" He trailed off, realising that he was very much at a loss on just what was going on. McClintock being put in charge was one thing, but after that business with Holt it simply did not add up anymore. "It must have something to do with this 'Project Broadsword'. If it's some kind of ship…"

"It must be a pretty special ship," Jack said. "Because it's more of a secret than any of the other ones." He paused, and he appeared to be deep in thought, if only for a moment. Janssen had an inkling of what he might have been considering, now that they had some idea of what was happening behind the scenes.

"If they expose the SGC to the public," Janssen suggested, "That doesn't mean they'll blow the lid on everything else. The starships, the off-world bases, they can keep all that quiet. And this 'Broadsword'? They'll throw off any further inquiries if they blow the lid on the stargate program."

"Sounds a bit, you know, _conspiratorial_." Jack said the last word carefully, aware of just how crazy it must have sounded. Here they were, standing in the middle of a top-secret base, discussing something even more top secret. And all because the resident bureaucrat was granted far more power than he deserved.

As if on cue, both men heard footsteps approaching. McClintock appeared from around the corner at the far end, dressed in his usual business suit, presumably on his way to his quarters. As soon as he saw both Janssen and Jack, he froze, keeping his composure as he considered whether to approach them or not. No doubt gathering his courage, he started towards them, one hand adjusting his tie as he walked.

"General Janssen." McClintock stopped just before the pair. "And Jack O'Neill. I was just on my way to the cafeteria."

"You should watch your waistline, Darren." Jack glanced at the man's stomach to emphasise his point. Granted, there was no real fat there, but the suggestion was enough to make McClintock appear uneasy, as was Jack's intention. "And your cholesterol."

"Right." McClintock turned to Janssen, and the pair's eyes met. "I'm sorry to hear about your team, General. If the stargate on their end won't activate…"

"It could mean anything." Janssen interrupted, his eyes narrowed, his voice sharp. McClintock shifted a little where he stood, as if unnerved by the man's gaze. "Major Wade will be taking the _Midway_ to investigate the planet. We'll know soon enough what really happened there. But if they are dead, then I will hold you responsible." Of course, he could not really lay the blame at McClintock's feet. He had his orders, and he had been following them. Still, he was the most convenient person around to lay it all upon. An easy enough scapegoat, really.

"What do you believe happened?" McClintock asked. He sounded genuinely curious, although Janssen could not imagine why. Sheppard and his team were no longer McClintock's problem. "Any theories?"

"It could be anything," Janssen replied. "A meteor could have hit the gate, for all we know."

"Well, let me know what you find. It could turn out to be important. If there was some kind of alien threat that did it, we need to find out all we can about them." McClintock went to continue walking, to pass by the pair, but Jack deftly stepped into his path. The bureaucrat regarded the retired General with a disdainful look, all the while Jack gave him a half-smile.

"Is there a problem, Jack?" McClintock asked.

"No, not really." Jack did not move, despite his response.

"If there is no problem, I will continue on my way…"

"Not so fast, Mister McClintock." Jack put a hand to the man's shoulder, and the pair's eyes met. Jack's carried an intensity that Janssen had not seen in them before. "You see, Darren, since I'm not in the Force anymore, not technically anyway, I don't necessarily need to follow all those old rules. I'm here to give the General a helping hand, advice even. You might have realised that a couple of old friends of mine are part of that missing team. If anything's happened to them…" He tightened his grip on the man's shoulder, his message clear. "I can get away with things that no official General would be able to."

McClintock squirmed out of the grasp easily enough. It was apparent that Jack had loosened it to begin with. For a moment, the IOA liaison looked a little shaken, but he quickly composed himself and went briskly walking by Jack. He did not give the pair another glance, and Janssen noticed that Jack was positively beaming as he watched McClintock stride away from them.

"You threatened him?" Janssen asked, a little surprised.

"Just put a little of the ol' fear of God into him," Jack replied, turning around to face Janssen. "What? You think I'm going to beat him up?"

"Well…"

"Don't answer that question." Jack started down the opposite end of the hall, with Janssen following him. "What do you say we go to the rec room? There must be a game on about now."

* * *

_Look around you, Serina. These people, they are complacent. Decadent, even. They remain oblivious to what occurs in the stars above them. They interfere in the affairs of other worlds, all the while the bulk of their population knows nothing of this._

'I know that you must sense my doubts, Strivak. But you must understand, these people are not too unlike myself. They are human, are they not?'

Seated in the shade of a gnarled, old tree with very few actual leaves upon it, the young blonde-haired woman named Serina regarded the setting sun with some awe. It was not like the one on her home-world, often blocked out by storm clouds and the ashes of volcanic eruptions. And even then, when she had been elsewhere, she had found that her work had kept her from viewing a sunset. Here, on this alien world, the sunset was as striking as she imagined it to be. Perhaps more so, in the way in which the sky above turned a deep purple in colour, with it taking on a more orange hue the nearer to the horizon one looked. It was enhanced by the rolling, desert plains before her; the rocky hills, the scattered vegetation, all shrouded in the shadow of nightfall as the reach of the sun's rays reduced.

Dressed in a thick jacket and hiking boots, the young woman raised a set of binoculars to her eyes, directing her attention skyward. As expected, a trio of combat jets went roaring overhead, high above and in tight formation. Somewhere over the hills towards the horizon, the humans of this world had an elaborate base that served as the core of so much of their military operations. Secret from even their own population, much of the research they carried out upon recovered alien technology took place there. And from what Serina had learned over her months spent here, the name of the place, one of many for that matter, was 'Area 51'.

_They have become a danger to the galaxy as a whole, granted technology they neither deserved nor were prepared to handle. We are here to help cut them down to size, to neutralise them before they can spread their influence further. I thought we had agreed on this course of action?_

'I agreed.' Sometimes, she felt a little odd, talking to that voice in her head like this. 'We had to, to come this far. What I do is what you do, and vice versa.' It was often a reassuring presence, infused with the knowledge of generations over thousands of years. She had come to rely upon Strivak's wisdom, which far outweighed all that she had learned over her life of twenty-two years, minute compared to Strivak's two-thousand.

'To have doubts is to be human.' Serina sensed some disagreement from that presence within her, and she smiled inwardly. 'You're as much a part of me as I am of you.'

Before either of them could speak any further on the matter, Serina felt something stir in her jacket pocket. A coldness swept through her then, a feeling of dread that was not lost on Strivak. She had prepared for this moment, yet all the preparation in the world would not remove all of the anxiety of finally receiving the anticipated go-ahead.

Nonetheless, she slowly pulled out the small communications device, little more than a metal disc encased in a red, organically-grown shell. A message had come through, translated into a language she understood: _Prepare._

She swallowed. That was it, then. Preparation was about all she had been doing for the last month or so, but she knew what the message truly meant, and what its sender was saying with it. She had perhaps a few days, at most, to get to the rendezvous and to lay the groundwork for what her unlikely allies intended to do here. Putting the device away, she sensed some gratification from the presence within her, and the feeling was somewhat infectious.

_You know what needs to be done._

Yes, she did. Rising to her feet from the boulder she had been sitting upon, she cast her eyes towards the setting sun one more time. Such a beautiful world, she mused, and yet the civilisation here appeared to be doing all they could to ruin it. Maybe it would be for the best that they were stopped, even if, deep down, she felt that she was started down a road that she could never return from. Then again, she had likely started that path a good while back, when she had agreed to this mission. Even more so when she had first met their unusual allies and learned of what they had planned. One thing was for sure, though: they both knew that the people of the Tau'ri were a threat, one that had grown far too strong in far too short a time. It had taken even the Goa'uld centuries to spread their tyrannical reach across the galaxy. As for the humans of Earth, they had achieved a similar level in a fraction of the time. What would they be like in another fifty years? One hundred? What would become of the other peoples of the galaxy, when the ships of Earth beared technology far superior to that of the Goa'uld?

No, Serina knew what she had to do. She was nipping the problem right at the stem, pulling a noxious weed before it could get proper hold and spread further, like she once had done so regularly around her childhood home so many light years from here. She would be doing a service, following through with this plan. A service to the entire galaxy, no matter how extreme others might have thought it to be. Her kind had devoted themselves to fighting the Goa'uld. Now, however, it was apparent that they had other enemies to concern themselves with.

* * *

The first of the devices had been fabricated. The Field Marshall stood in the command tent, his attention going to the seemingly innocuous, chrome silver device that had been placed before him. Next to him stood the Executor, and at the opposite end of the table stood two guards and the bedraggled human scientist. His hands were visibly shaking and had been even more so when he had been handling the device itself. Sweat beaded across his brow, a result of the humidity within the enclosed tent that the Field Marshall's species favoured.

"Is this as reliable as those your people once possessed?" The Field Marshall picked up the device. It was no larger than his fist, intended to be strapped around one arm for ease of use. The device itself carried almost no weight, and from what he understood, the fabrication process had been tricky. Many of the metals required were hard to come by, at least upon this world and others like it. The Field Marshall had since sent scouts to a number of potential locations to uncover more. Locations provided by the Tollan scientist himself, presumably sources his own people had once utilised.

"It'll work how you need it to," Faroc replied, his voice uneven. He sounded nervous, and he used one sleeve of his nondescript grey tunic to wipe the sweat from his brow. "How long the charge will last, I cannot say. But it'll give you plenty of use."

The Field Marshall turned the device over in his hand. There were only a few buttons, each one coloured differently to the others. Almost like a toy, he mused. Hardly befitting of the reputable technological might of the Tollan people, not that it had counted much for them in the end. Wiped out by the System Lord Anubis, the arrogance and complacency of the Tollan was something the Field Marshall considered to be a cautionary tale, of sorts. One must always adapt to changes in the environment around them, something his people had learned a long time ago. As for the Tollan, they had been so sure of their place and of their technological superiority that they had refused to adapt. That had been their downfall.

And now there was another arrogant and complacent power in the galaxy. One the Field Marshall intended to put an end to.

The Field Marshall handed the device to the Executor. He took it, examining it in much the same way his superior had. A click of his mandibles suggested his uncertainty, and the Field Marshall turned to him and spoke in their native tongue.

"Put it on." He delivered this as an order. The Field Marshall noticed the Executor's doubts, evident in his overall demeanour. There were risks with any such new technology, and the Executor appeared hardly keen to be the first test user. Glaring at him more intently, the Field Marshall made his intentions clear.

Slowly, the Executor stuck the device to his left forearm. Faroc watched nervously, no doubt worried that something would go wrong. The Field Marshall would not kill him for such failure, as he still needed the scientist. Not that Faroc needed to know this right now. Instead, the Field Marshall allowed the scientist to stew in his growing anxiety, amused by the human's increasingly unnerved expression.

"The red button activates it," Faroc said abruptly. The Executor looked to him, irritation evident in his stance, as if insulted that the human assumed he could not work it out himself. Nonetheless, the Executor went and pressed the red button. Instantly there was a noticeable shimmer of white light, as it passed over the Executor's entire form, having started at the device. His entire visage seemed to bend oddly, if only for a second, before settling itself with no sign that anything had changed.

The Executor raised his hands before him, as if checking that they were both still present. Satisfied that he was not missing any limbs, he turned around and went for the rear wall of the command structure. The Field Marshall watched with keen interest as his second-in-command halted before the wall, reaching out with one hand to test the waters, so-to-speak. And, as the Field Marshall had hoped, the Executor's hand passed through the solid shell of the structure as if it was not even there.

After this test, the Executor gathered up his courage and walked into the wall. As his hand had done, so did the rest of him. He walked right through the outer shell of the structure without any resistance, passing through the solid wall as if it did not even exist. He disappeared from view for a few seconds, no doubt coming out the other side in the light of the afternoon sun, perhaps even startling one of the guards on patrol out there. A moment later, the Executor returned, walking back inside the command structure confidently, at ease with the device and what it was doing. Even so, he was quick to deactivate it, hitting the appropriate button on the device as soon as he was back inside. The shimmer happened again, passing quickly over his form, seemingly 'settling' him back onto the correct phase of reality. With that done, he put one hand against the wall behind him, making sure he was back to being solid. Hitting the wall with the hand and tapping it a few times just to make sure, the Executor gave a quick nod, satisfied that the device had done its job without mangling him in some horrific way.

"I need many more of these," the Field Marshall said, settling his gaze upon Faroc once more. "How long will it take to fabricate them?"

"I'll need more materials." Faroc looked a little surprised, as if he had not been expecting the device to function. Either that, or he was beginning to realise what he was assisting with. The Field Marshall would pay careful attention to him with that in mind, as he did not need the human developing a conscience so late in the proceedings. "But a few days, if you can get them for me."

The Field Marshall picked up a small red box from the table and threw it to the scientist. He caught it, albeit shakily, and popped open the lid to peer inside.

"Your stimulants," the Field Marshall stated. "Get to work. I want those fabricators going at double capacity."


	29. Making Enemies

**Making Enemies**

"They're not really going to kill you, are they?"

Joanne could hardly believe it. The fact that Valkas' own people were going to execute him, or at the very least, had so far suggested the possibility, struck her as ridiculous. He had not done anything truly 'wrong', had he? Then again, these were aliens. And aliens did not necessarily do things the same way that human beings did.

Valkas was seated on the floor nearby, back against the wall, eyes straight ahead as he lost himself in thought. He had been that way for a good while, since his older brother had come by and laid it all out for him. Joanne had spoken to Valkas a few times back at the SGC, before the mission. She had felt that she had gotten to know him to a decent extent, although what they had been through so far since leaving Earth had probably done more to make them friends than anything else. It seemed odd, actually considering Valkas a friend, but anyone who risked their own neck to rescue her from a dungeon in a fortress was most definitely a 'friend' in her book.

How long had they been in this cell? A few hours, at least, with absolutely nothing to do. The guards had supplied them with water and some odd-looking nutrient bars that had all the taste and texture of cardboard, but other than that it appeared that Colonel Sheppard had been the only one to be 'questioned'. Joanne had seen him being brought in after his questioning, and he had appeared furious. Since they were split up across these cells, they had no way of communicating with one another. This was likely intentional on the part of their captors.

What irked Joanne the most was the fact that they were wasting time. Earth was at risk, and they were the only people who knew of the Field Marshall and his plans to attack. How he intended to carry it out, Joanne did not know, but it was apparent that he intended to do something with those Tollan devices he had made off with. They had failed to prevent him from getting hold of them, and they had essentially failed in their mission to salvage anything useful from Ra's fortress. Joanne's first proper mission through the stargate, and it had all fallen apart. Not a great start to her career at the SGC, not that this seemed to matter so much anymore. Earth was what mattered, and the innocent lives that would be lost when the Field Marshall launched his attack.

"Valkas?" Joanne rose off of her seat upon the single bunk, taking a few steps towards the Calsharan. He looked up at her, brought out of his reverie, taken off-guard by the worry in her voice.

"Sorry, Joanne." He scratched at his chin absently, and she could see the worry in his own, bright amber eyes. "I was just thinking."

"And you're entitled to do so," Joanne replied. "After what your own brother said, I wouldn't be surprised if that was all you wanted to do."

"He was always the favourite." Valkas sounded a little put-out, which was understandable. "I guess I never spoke much about my family, but that was for good reason. I am what you might call a 'disappointment'."

"Black-sheep?"

"What?"

"It's an Earth term." For all his interest in Earth culture and entertainment, Valkas was still a little out-of-the-loop when it came to the finer details. "Never mind about it now. But it must be frustrating. You seem like the kind of man who would try his hardest to impress his elders. Just from what I've seen."

"I was never good enough for my parents," Valkas said. "It was always Toron they looked to. He was going to bring the respect and prestige to the family name that my parents wanted. Children are the future, after all. You lay everything upon them, hoping that they won't disappoint you." He paused briefly, eyeing Joanne curiously. "Do you have children?"

Joanne shook her head.

"No. Don't really have time for that. No significant other, and no brothers or sisters. I was an only child, and I guess I ended up married to my work. I had to, if I was going to get ahead. It's a man's world out there." She smirked as she said this, knowing full well how clichèd it sounded.

"Is that so?" Valkas returned her smirk, in his toothy sort of way. "Where I'm from, it's generally the women in charge."

"Is it?" Now Joanne did really smile. It was a bit of humour, a little bit of levity, after all that they had been through. It was all the more relieving, given that their trials were far from over.

"One of our greatest legends was a woman," Valkas explained. "Visala. She united our people's clans and nations one-thousand years ago. I understand Daniel Jackson was very interested to hear more about these stories."

"He would be." Joanne had known the archaeologist long enough to be well aware of his striving for historical knowledge. Not to mention his reputation as championing just about every cause he could get involved with, no matter how inconvenient it might have proven to certain other individuals. Daniel had made just as many friends over the years as he had enemies, and Joanne found that she could admire that about him. Standing for something was bound to make one enemies, but it was better than standing for nothing.

"That's the interesting thing about her," Valkas said. He leaned back where he sat as his mind wandered to what Joanne could only assume were history lessons from years before. She would be hard-pressed to remember anything she had picked up on back in high school history. If anything, that was one subject she had near flunked. "She united us, established a stable government and left behind all manner of writings concerning our rules, our legal code and the like. Some of those are, if rumours are to be believed, buried in government vaults. There are theories that she warned against being overzealous, tyrannical even. But if you ask me…" He trailed off, the subject matter somewhat more sensitive than he was used to. "I think my people have strayed too far from what she originally laid out. If she was around today, I figure that she would not be pleased with what my people have become." He met Joanne's gaze, and there was some uncertainty in the expression he gave. "This kind of talk could get me in trouble, but since I'm in enough trouble as it is I figure I can speak whatever I damn well please."

"That's the spirit." She paused, briefly, mulling over the thought. "I'm all for speaking one's mind. Sure, in the Air Force I can't really do that without getting into trouble, but as a basic right? It's important. And we can't go tearing it down for any reason."

"You should tell my people that," Valkas said. "I know that my brother wouldn't approve."

"With all due respect, Valkas, but your brother came across like a pompous ass." Joanne crossed her arms over her chest, her face scrunching up with annoyance. "Whatever favouritism your parents gave him has gotten to his head."

"Maybe. But he is right about one thing. By helping you and your people, by telling you about the fortress and what was in there, I was committing an act of treason. That was all sensitive information."

"And what would your people have done, with the technology we found there?" Joanne could imagine exactly what they would have done, and none of it would have been good. At least, not any good for the enemies of the Calsharan people, and Joanne was beginning to feel as if humanity fell within that category. "Those Tollan devices could be put to some very bad use. What would your government do, with the ability to walk through walls?"

Valkas gave it some thought.

"What would yours?" He countered. Joanne had to admit, he had a point there. Even so, they had gone to that fortress without any real inkling as to what was actually inside. Advanced tech, certainly, but the details had been few and far between. It was the mission that was to have made her career and helped prove to the likes of the IOA that the stargate program was worth funding. Instead, it had all backfired miserably.

"I bet we wouldn't do whatever that alien Field Marshall is planning," Joanne replied. "And I know it's going to be nothing good. That's why we've got to get out of here."

"How do you suggest we do that?"

"We get out of this cell, for starters." Joanne walked up to the opening ahead, where the invisible energy field blocked their exit. She put a hand in front of her, feeling for the energy, her fingers tingling as they neared it. She made sure to stop short of getting a shock, and her eyes scanned the edges of the threshold where it was situated. There had to be emitters built into the walls, not that she could see any. And even if there was a visible power source, it would be out of reach.

"We'll need to shut off the ship's hyperdrive," Valkas said. He remained seated, his confidence in their chances of escape lacking. "You saw how this cruiser caught up with that Goa'uld ship. We'll need to cripple the engines if we have any chance of escaping."

"Are there smaller ships on board? Shuttles, cargo transports?"

"There will be. But they will be locked down with security codes." Valkas saw the hopeful glimmer in her eye and slowly shook his head. "Codes I do not have."

"And the Goa'uld bomber?"

"Probably in the main hangar. Only one big enough for it."

"Then, we get out of here, we shutdown the hyperdrive and we steal back our stolen Goa'uld ship."

Valkas nodded his head, yet he did not appear at all confident.

"Yes, Joanne, that's a sound plan and all with only one problem." He rose to his feet then, stretching his aching arms and lower back. With one hand, he gestured to the invisible energy field. "How are we going to get out of this cell?"

Joanne felt confident, save for this little detail. Not to mention the small army of guards that were likely between them and the hangar. There were probably more guarding the hyperdrive systems. Still, she was not going to wallow in this cell for any longer. Earth was in danger, all while she and the rest of their team were being flown to what she imagined to be a Calsharan military base somewhere. They needed an out, and looking at the cell exit, Joanne could not see one.

* * *

Aithris had been quiet since their initial conversation. Daniel had asked him a few questions, here and there, about the 'great enemy' he had spoken of. At the same time, Daniel had not been entirely confident that Aithris was telling the truth, or at the very least, was not simply delusional. He hardly knew the mysterious alien, and he was not about to take his word for it. He liked to think that he was a bit more cautious than that, even if in his younger years he would have jumped right into believing it. Maybe age had made him more cautious, more aware that he was better off playing it by ear instead of launching headlong into this strange alien's crusade against some unknown, long-forgotten foe. If they really were such a 'great enemy', then why had Daniel not heard of them until now? Surely somewhere along the way, over all the years he had spent travelling across the galaxy, he would have found some trace of them? Some writing, some ancient illustration at the very least, referring to some ancient alien foe who had carved a swathe through some distant corner of the galaxy?

"You have doubts, Daniel Jackson." Aithris spoke up then, after a good twenty minutes without saying anything. Daniel, still seated on the 'toilet', looked to Aithris and gave a light shrug.

"It's all a bit much to digest," he replied. "Not that I don't disbelieve the whole thing, but I've been around the galaxy. I've seen a lot, done a lot. Some of which I'm not proud of. But you talking about some 'great enemy'…"

"It is hard to believe," Aithris said. "But I am not one to lie."

"Yes, well, I ah, hardly know you enough for that to mean anything. No offense."

Aithris smiled at him then, bearing a set of pointed teeth. Red eyes gleaming, he leaned forwards, regarding Daniel with intrigue.

"Perhaps fate has brought you to me, Daniel Jackson. You seem to be the one best suited to persuade the others, even your race as a whole, to help me on my mission."

"They're going to need a little more than just my word. But it's certainly worth looking into." He glanced towards the opening of the cell, protected by its invisible force-field. "Only problem is, we need a way out."

Aithris nodded in agreement.

"That we do. I take it you are no expert on Calsharan energy fields?"

"Me?" Daniel put a hand to his chest for emphasis, before shaking his head. "No, no, not me. I'm the scholar, not the technician. If there was some riddle to solve that opened the way, I'd be all over it. Now, if Sam were here…" He trailed off then, aware that the name had no relevance on Aithris. "I mean, there are people I know much better at this sort of thing than I am." He paused, mind working over any and all possibilities when it came to getting out of this cell. Nothing jumped out at him, and he was bereft of any items that might have been able to help. Little more than the clothing on his back, as wrinkled and bedraggled it all was.

"Hey, Aithris?" He turned to the alien, a thought occurring to him that, even for a former member of SG-1, struck him as a little crazy.

"Yes?"

"That device you have, the map? Can I take a closer look at it?" He held out his hand, noticing Aithris's eyes narrow with a mix of curiosity and uncertainty. Even so, the alien reached into his coat and pulled it from within, handing the small, disc-shaped object to Daniel. He immediately held it up to the light, eyes roaming over its seemingly innocuous form as he examined it closely. There was definitely some similarity to other Ancient devices he had seen, those designed by the long-gone stargate-builders who had seeded this galaxy with stargates. In particular, the communications stones. This was not one of them, of course, but the design was not too dissimilar.

"Do you know who made this?" Daniel asked Aithris, holding it up.

"No. Only that it is very old, passed on down through the generations. A reminder of the enemy we face, and that one day they will return. Why do you ask?"

"It looks Ancient."

"That it is."

"No, what I mean is the actual 'Ancients'." Daniel could see that Aithris was a little confused. "That's what we call them, those who built the stargates? The Ancients. It's a bit generic, I know, but it's fitting, at least. I've run into plenty of their tech before. This looks like something of theirs. Which makes me wonder if they knew something of this enemy you've told me about."

"The Gate-builders?" Aithris nodded his head in understanding. "Yes, I know of those you speak. And it is likely that device you hold is from them, but I cannot be certain."

"It holds its own source of power," Daniel stated. Now he was getting to the more unlikely part of his plan. He supposed the word 'plan' was perhaps too strong; this was more a little bit of improvisation on his part, and he had little confidence anything would come of it. "And if this force-field is what I think it is…"

"A continuous stream of contained energy over the entrance of the cell," Aithris stated. He seemed to have picked up on what Daniel was going for, and he leaned forwards where he was seated, now intrigued. "You believe that the device may interrupt the flow." He paused, creasing his brow. "Would that not destroy the device?"

"It's a chance we'll have to take." Daniel got up from the 'toilet' and walked over to the cell's threshold. The guard patrolling the corridor was not in sight and was presumably at the far end of his patrol. "If this device was made by the Ancients, then it's probably far hardier than anything else we've got. I have a feeling it'll survive the contact."

Aithris nodded, willing to take the chance. It was all they had, and he had probably toyed with the idea himself prior to Daniel's arrival. Maybe he had been unable to risk the artefact, as it no doubt held some sentimental value to him. Yet he was willing to allow Daniel to try. It appeared that he held some significant trust for the human archaeologist, even if they had only met a few hours before.

"This could backfire horribly," Daniel said. "But if it works, we'll need to take care of the guard outside."

"Don't worry about him," Aithris said.

Daniel knelt down to the floor, before the force-field. With the device in one hand, he slowly slid it along the floor, moving it closer to the force-field with increasing trepidation. As it neared, he could feel that familiar tingling as it began to push against the invisible wall of energy. All it needed was a bit more, and it would be…

His train of thought was interrupted by a sudden flash of light, followed by a loud crackling noise as sparks erupted from around the entrance of the cell. He stumbled backwards, pain shooting down his arm as some of the force-field's charge jumped into him, not unlike a jolt of electricity. The entire force-field flared, light rippling around the seemingly innocuous device where it sat in the middle of the entrance. There was an audible _thump_ from inside the wall as something important exploded, the device creating the kind of feedback and overload that Daniel had surmised it may possibly do. Of course, he had been fully expecting this haphazard plan to fail miserably, so he was pleasantly surprised to see that it had worked, through some miracle. Within seconds, the light and the noise had ceased, leaving only smoke pouring out of the sides of the entrance from where the force-field had once been emitted. Not only that, but he could smell the stench of ozone as wiring and circuitry burned within the walls. He had done his fair share of damage here, and with some worry he looked down at the device on the floor.

It appeared unscathed. As he had suspected, Ancient devices were not so easily destroyed. He picked it up, his left arm still sore from the shock he had received, and he half-expected another one to shoot down his limb. None did, and he instead picked up the stone-like device and tossed it to Aithris, who caught it deftly in one hand. He examined it for any sign of damage and was seemingly satisfied that none had been gained.

"The guard," Daniel began, as he rose to his feet and stepped out of the cell. The force-field was indeed gone, and he found himself in a corridor running between a whole row of cells. That meant the others were here somewhere, although his attention went for the guard on patrol. The guard had turned his eyes to the source of all the noise, and somewhere at some control panel Daniel could imagine red warning lights flashing. Neutralising the force-field would not have gone unnoticed, and they likely only had a few minutes before this place was crawling with soldiers.

The Calsharan soldier on patrol saw him, the flash of yellow of his visor catching Daniel's eye as the soldier turned to him. Pulling a side-arm from his waist, he raised it and marched upon Daniel threateningly. Daniel found himself standing his ground, despite the growing anxiety in his chest, as the guard beared down upon him and barked at him in a language he did not understand. Presumably the stargate's ability to translate languages did not extend its reach to the Calsharans, which was a little inconsistency that fascinated Daniel and deserved further research. He stowed the thought, as it was hardly appropriate for the current situation.

The guard obviously wanted him to step back into the cell. Daniel raised his hands in the universal sign of surrender and took a few steps back, just enough for Aithris to get by him and lunge for the guard. The pair of burly aliens grappled with one another in the corridor, with Aithris forcing aside the gun the guard carried. It fired, and Daniel ducked as a bolt of crackling blue energy slammed into the wall nearby, a puff of flame and smoke erupting from the impact. Aithris punched the helmeted guard hard, enough to knock his head back a peg, before he twisted the guard's right arm and sent the gun falling from his grasp.

Daniel scrambled for it, his hand falling around the pistol grip before a swift kick from the guard caught him in the stomach. The impact was hard, more so than Daniel had been prepaed for, and he found himself being thrown back against the opposite wall. A wave of nausea went through him then, as what little he had eaten the past few hours threatened to come straight back up and out of him. It took him a moment to regain his composure, and he found himself faced with two evenly matched aliens busy in a grappling war of sorts, with swift punches and kicks being thrown as they threw each other around the corridor.

"Shoot him, Daniel Jackson!" Aithris sounded a little strained, as he attempted to match the guard's moves in turn. He put a knee into the guard's gut, but the response he got was minimal, for the guard's armour absorbed much of the blow. In comparison, Aithris had no armour, and was considerably more vulnerable. Daniel raised the Calsharan pistol, bulky and unwieldy in his human hands. He tried to line up a confident shot at the guard, but the fight kept throwing both Aithris and the guard around. Instead of going for a blast that might kill, Daniel lowered his aim. With a pull of the trigger, he felt the weapon kick in his grip, and a bolt of blue energy connected with the guard's left leg, below the knee.

The guard let out a pained howl as the bolt burned through his armour and seared into the flesh. He stumbled, and it was all Aithris needed to turn the tide of the brawl. Turning the guard around, he put him into a headlock, with one hand tearing the helmet off of him and revealing the pained, dark-scaled face of a Calsharan male. Daniel could only watch as Aithris pushed harder and harder upon the guard's neck, his red eyes narrowed determinedly as he used all his reserves of strength to cut off the guard's air supply. It took some doing, but eventually the guard's struggle ceased, and his pale orange eyes rolled back into his head as unconsciousness took hold. Daniel felt a little out of his element here. Getting into fights with humans was one thing, but these guys? Calsharans, and whatever Aithris liked to call his species? That was a whole other ballpark, and it was one Daniel felt well out of his depth within.

Aithris allowed the guard to fall to the floor. Standing over him, his eyes went to Daniel, and the archaeologist noticed that Aithris did not appear at all fazed by the brawl. No shortness for breath, no sweat, nothing more than a slight grimace as he regarded his handiwork.

"I admire your decision to not shoot to kill," Aithris remarked.

"It seemed unnecessary," Daniel replied. "I mean, we don't want to antagonise these people. Killing their soldiers would probably do just that."

"They don't have the same philosophy you do," Aithris said. "In case you were not already aware, but the Calsharans are notoriously paranoid and consider themselves superior to every other race in the galaxy."

"Well, someone's got to play nice." He glanced down both ends of the corridor. "Come on. My friends are in these cells somewhere." He started down the way in which the guard had come running. Aithris followed behind him, eyes darting about, on the lookout for any further enemies. Daniel checked the cells they went by, moving quickly with the threat of more guards arriving hanging over the pair of them. As expected, he found the rest of the team not far from his own cell, with both John Sheppard and Natalia being the first two he came upon.

John was standing near the entrance of the cell. He frowned when he saw Daniel outside, although this was quickly replaced with a broad smile.

"Hey, Daniel," he said, as the man himself stopped just outside his cell. "Of all the people who'd get out, I have to say, you were probably last on my list."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence, John." Daniel looked to the control panel by the cell. John's gaze shifted to Aithris, who lingered a few steps behind Daniel.

"Who's your new friend?" John asked.

"Someone who wants to get out of here as badly as we do," Daniel answered. Aithris turned to the Colonel, offering him a curt nod. John appeared uncertain, but with Daniel out there with this newcomer, he did not immediately jump to full distrust. "He's sort of on a mission, from what he told me. Real important stuff. Galaxy-affecting, even."

"Really?" John appeared sceptical but nodded anyway. Daniel began to try the several buttons on the control panel by the cell, none of which jumped out at him. Calsharan was one language he had no knowledge of, and the symbols were simply alien to him. After a few button pushes that got him no results, he simply took a step back and pointed the bulky Calsharan pistol at the panel.

"Stand back," he said, and as Aithris and John moved a few steps away, Daniel fired. The control panel exploded in a puff of smoke and sparks, a sizzling hole being blasted into its place. The force-field keeping John and Natalia contained failed, a flash of light signifying its deactivation. John went to help Natalia onto her feet, allowing the Sergeant to put an arm over his shoulders in order to support herself.

Daniel moved onto the next cell. Joanne and Valkas were here, both on their feet and alert from all the noise. Joanne's eyes lit up as she saw Daniel approach.

"You got out," she said, practically beaming.

"Someone had to," Daniel stated. He pointed the gun at the control panel, and both Valkas and Joanne took a few steps back from the force-field. Firing again, the control panel blew up, Daniel turning his head slightly to keep the sparks from flying into his face. Both Joanne and Valkas hurried out of the opened cell, both surveying either end of the corridor with alert and ready eyes. Their escape had begun in earnest, yet it was only a matter of minutes before an alarm was raised. That was if it had not already, perhaps a silent alarm that was bringing every armoured Calsharan soldier racing for their position.

"Let's go," John said. Natalia hobbled along against him, at least able to move on her one good leg with John's assistance.

"I know where we must go," Valkas said, and he took the lead, with the others falling in. "That guard you neutralised, he'll have a security key on him." He left the group by the cells, as he raced for the wounded and unconscious guard. After a quick search of the pouches at the armour about his waist and thighs, Valkas came running back with a small, rectangular card of sorts, lit up with alien symbols. With that in hand, he made his way back for the group and then to the exit beyond them.

As they moved after Valkas, Joanne regarded Aithris curiously, and Daniel offered her a reassuring glance.

"He's a friend," he said.

"Is he?" Joanne was unconvinced.

"My name is Aithris." There was little time for pleasantries, as they rushed down the corridor and for the exit of the cellblock. Joanne gave the mysterious alien another glance, nodding in acknowledgement.

"Captain Joanne Bowers," she said, as they came upon the exit. Valkas appeared to know what he was doing, as he went to the control panel and slid the card through a slot upon it, not unlike a key-card lock on Earth. A green light activated, and the door slid open, revealing a security checkpoint of sorts manned by a single guard. He was seated at a desk in full armour, sans helmet, yellow eyes darting to the group with surprise. Valkas pounced upon him without hesitation, punching him in the throat with a sharp blow that took Daniel and the others by surprise. Despite Valkas' seemingly easy-going attitude, he was a trained fighter, and that much was apparent as he grabbed hold of the gasping guard and forced him into a headlock. He went down quickly, with Valkas easing him to the floor behind the desk before snatching up his sidearm.

There was another door ahead, with a small window set into its centre. While Valkas worked at the holographic terminal at the desk, Daniel went to the door, peering through the window and into the grey corridor on the other side. It appeared clear, free of any guards. Valkas, meanwhile, was tapping commands into the holographic terminal, eyes set in concentration as he focused on his task. He must have found what he wanted, as he gave a satisfied huff and pulled out a small device not unlike a small tablet computer, or one of the portable scanners that had been found at Atlantis. It occurred to Daniel that Valkas had just downloaded a map of the ship, which would no doubt prove invaluable. He turned to John, handing the small portable computer to him.

"That'll show you the path to the hangar," Valkas said. "I'm going to go and disable the hyperdrive. I can find my own way there." He turned to Daniel and the others, whilst John examined the computerised map, flicking through it and taking it in as well as he could, given their hurried situation. "You'll realise I've succeeded when we drop out of hyperspace."

"You'll need help," Joanne announced.

"No, I can do it on my own." Valkas sounded certain. Joanne, on the other hand, shook her head.

"I'm coming with you."

They exchanged glances. It was apparent to even Valkas that Joanne was not a woman you argued with. After a long, awkward pause, Valkas appeared to relent.

"All right then, Captain. As you wish."

John looked up from the portable computer.

"You sure about this?" He asked them, directing it to Valkas, although it sounded as if he were asking everyone in the group. "You sure you can bring yourself to shoot at your own people?"

"I'm sure. They are planning to execute me, anyway." There was no doubt in Valkas' voice, or even his piercing amber eyes. His mind was set, and Daniel was aware that he had seen the same kind of look on the face of an old friend of his, many years ago. The look of someone doing what they knew to be right, even if it meant ruining the life they had lived up until that point.

There was an extended silence amongst the group, with looks exchanged, mostly uncertain ones. Finally, Valkas opened the exit to the cellblock, with Joanne following closely behind. The Captain offered them one last look before she left the room, the pair heading off on their self-assigned tasks. John gave the personal computer in his hand another glance, before he motioned for the rest of them to follow.

"Come on," he said. "Before we get a small army between us and the hangar."


	30. Lizard Central

**Lizard Central**

Fleet Commander Cassalis was one again seated in her office, regarding the reports that had been delivered to her from their scout team who were still sifting through what was left of Ra's fortress. She flitted from one display on her personal computer to another, perusing the information with a careful eye. They had uncovered the stargate's control panel, sometimes known as a 'dial-home device', and from it had been able to delve into its inner workings and determine what had been the last address dialled. And from that, they had a potential fix on those responsible for the destruction of the fortress and the technological treasures it had supposedly held. As for the stargate itself, it was still mostly buried, yet it had survived the explosion as Cassalis had come to expect from the technology of the Gate-builders. They had constructed some true wonders, many of which remained standing to this day, despite the many, many years since the Gate-builders themselves had seemingly disappeared.

So, they had a stargate address to investigate. Cassalis considered having the cruiser stop-off at the nearest planet on their route with a stargate, in order to send a team to check it out, but she thought it may be prudent to deliver this information back to the home-world. It would be a few hours before their communications were in range of a Calsharan relay buoy, and even then it would take a bit of time for the information to reach the home-world. The coordinates were too far off their intended hyperspace route and deviating from it would put them off-schedule. Just another decision that someone in her position had to make, whether it was worth investigating the claims the humans of Earth had made, about the alien enemy who threatened their home-world. Whoever they were, Cassalis was very interested in meeting them, if they did exist.

The whole thing could be a ruse by the human officer, Sheppard, to throw her people off of the truth. The humans could have taken the technological treasures of Ra's fortress for themselves, perhaps even hidden them, or thrown them through the stargate to their home-world. Any number of possibilities, and she sure did not trust Sheppard or his compatriots. Humans could be slippery, those of Earth even more so than usual if their reputation was to be believed. It was as if evolving on that planet had given these humans a particular knack for messing with the business of other races and getting away with it. Then again, they had been left to their own devices for thousands of years; it was no surprise that they had developed the technologies necessary to become a real problem. If this alien enemy that Sheppard had mentioned was real, then part of Cassalis wanted to see what kind of damage they might do in order to bring these humans of the Tau'ri back down to size. One less galactic power for the Calsharan people to concern themselves with.

The computer terminal on her desk started to beep, signalling an incoming communication. Cassalis put aside her palm-sized personal computer and pressed a button upon the holographic terminal before her to accept the incoming call. It was one of the sergeants from the lower decks, and his stern features appeared on the display.

"Fleet Commander," he said, emerald eyes narrowed. "We have a problem."

Cassalis frowned. Normally when one of her officers said something along those lines, she knew that it was an understatement.

"What is it?"

"We just had a change of shift in the brig," the Sergeant explained. "That was when we learned that the human prisoners, along with the traitor and that Nomad, have escaped. They were able to somehow leave their cells and jump the guards there without an alarm being raised."

"Have you raised it now?"

The Sergeant shook his head, although he looked a little uncertain.

"I thought it best to contact you first, Commander. I do not wish to put the entire ship into full alert over a handful of human prisoners."

Cassalis nodded. He was careful, this Sergeant. A full alert would mean they would have to exit hyperspace and lockdown the entire ship, which would likely be more counterproductive than anything else. She cursed herself for not checking her surveillance feeds more often, but she had been out and about within the ship attending to various duties. As much as she would have preferred otherwise, she was not omnipotent.

"Go to yellow alert." Cassalis considered their options, briefly. "The humans will likely be making their way to the hangar. Funnel them towards it, and once they are there, we will ambush them."

"Shoot to kill, Commander?"

"Only if necessary." Cassalis rose from her seat, eyes going over to the armour hanging upon the wall behind her. "I want to try and keep them alive. The information they could offer us is significant."

"As you wish, Commander." The Sergeant nodded his head in acknowledgement. "But if they fire upon us…"

"Yes, yes, do whatever it takes. I simply would _prefer_ it if they were alive." She ended the communication there, the Sergeant's gruff visage disappearing from the screen. She walked over to the armour on the wall, gathering up the vest and helmet. With it, she also grabbed her side-arm, a bulky plasma-based energy weapon built to be fired one-handed. In her grip, it had a sturdy feel to it, a comfortable amount of weight for a weapon of its size and power. To a human, it would likely be a bit too heavy for a 'pistol' and would probably have to be fired with both hands.

It had been a while since she had been in a proper fight. She missed the action, the thrill and the glory that battle brought with it. If these humans offered one thing to her, it was the opportunity to finally get into a fight after months without anything even close to one occurring. Such was the nature of commanding a vessel, when they had no major enemies to combat.

* * *

Joanne and Valkas moved through the corridors of the vessel at a cautious pace, keeping to the shadows where they could. Most of the corridors were of the sparse, grey variety, much unlike the lavish interior décor of a Goa'uld ship or installation. About ten minutes after they had left the cellblock behind them, an alarm sounded, echoing throughout the corridors and no doubt alerting every single Calsharan on board to the fact that prisoners had escaped. When this happened, both Joanne and Valkas ducked into a side-room of sorts, about a level above from where the cellblock had been located. With the door closed behind them and metal crates on all sides, the pair took a moment to consider their course of action.

Valkas seemed to know where he was going. Joanne felt confident that he could take them to where they needed to be. As Joanne watched, Valkas began to move some of the crates aside, as if trying to get to the far wall. Outside, beyond the closed door, the sounds of multiple heavy footfalls could be heard, clunking heavily upon the metal floor of the corridor. Joanne moved over to the door, peering through the small square window set near its centre. She glanced at the backs of a pair of Calsharan guards in full armour, jogging by the store-room and headed for the cellblock. Both carried bulky looking black metal rifles, the narrow vents on the barrels emanating a blue glow.

She turned back to Valkas, who had since cleared some of the boxes away. At the wall was a computer display, showing a layout of the ship with a number of points marked with red circles. Joanne frowned, as Valkas regarded the display intently.

"What is it?" She asked him.

"This ship's new," Valkas answered, as he glanced back to her. "It's so new, they haven't cleared some of these platforms."

"Platforms?"

Valkas used one hand to gesture at the room around them, small and packed tightly with metal boxes.

"This is an elevator," he said. "Not only that…" Returning his attention to the screen, he tapped the computer map of the ship with one finger, specifically a section of the ship towards the rear. The engines, Joanne surmised.

She was not prepared for the flash of white light that enveloped the whole room, nor for the odd, weightless sensation that took hold of her body for all of a second. And then, as quickly as she might have blinked, she looked about the room to find that nothing had changed. She was still standing where she had been a few seconds before, and Valkas was still by the computer display. Boxes surrounded them, their positions unchanged. If this had been an elevator, then it must not have moved at all.

"What just happened?" Joanne asked.

"We're in the engineering section now," Valkas replied. He walked past her, stopping at the door. Joanne frowned, confused, as absolutely nothing within the room had changed. She went up to the door with Valkas by her side, and she cast her eyes through the small square window in the middle of it. The corridor was different to what it had been before, wider too, with a number of large metal grilles and bulky conduits running along the walls and ceilings. It certainly looked more utilitarian, something out of a factory rather than a starship. If this was the engineering section it definitely looked the part.

"You mean we…?"

"Teleported?" Valkas nodded his head. "There are several such stations on our larger ships. Don't you humans have something similar?"

Joanne knew of the ring transporters and Asgard beaming technology, although she had never used those things herself. What surprised her more was that the Calsharans had something very similar on board their ships, which suggested that they were far more advanced than they let on.

"Yeah, kind of." Joanne put the thought aside for now. She could not deny that she felt a growing concern regarding these Calsharans. They were advanced, and they were potentially hostile. Well, maybe not 'potentially'; so far, they had made a very good case for being flat-out hostile even if they were doing their best not to show it. A whole species of extremists, who were willing to kill one of their own because he dared help out humanity without actually putting his own kind at risk.

"We can get to the hyperdrive core from here," Valkas said. He put a hand to the control panel by the door, satisfied that there was no one outside waiting for them. The door slid open, and the pair slipped out into the corridor. Joanne found herself following Valkas, as he confidently led the way down the wider, and oddly warmer, corridor. She could hear the hum of the ship's engines, much louder in this section, as well as the odd _clunk-clunk_ of powerful machinery, which in turn was usually followed by a loud and prolonged hissing sound as steam, or something of the sort, was released.

"We're not too far off," Valkas said, as they rounded a corner. Ahead, there was a set of double doors. As the pair approached, the doors slid open, revealing a control room of sorts and a wide observation window at the right-hand side. This looked out upon what Joanne could only assume was the ship's main reactor, given the size and the fact that it was situated in the middle of a vast, open room lined with walkways and metal pillars that positively crackled with energy. Her gaze did not linger there, instead it went to the three Calsharans present in the engine room, outfitted in bulky grey armour that suggested a more functional intent than a military one. Technicians or engineers, from the look of them, equipped in armour capable of protecting them from radiation or whatever other risks might be present in the ship's engine core.

All three turned their heads to look upon the two intruders, and for a good few seconds there were a few glances of confusion between them. Valkas had his gun raised, while Joanne was, much to her continuing irritation, still unarmed.

"Don't move." Valkas barked the instruction harshly, marching into the room with the gun raised. Two of the Calsharan engineers froze where they stood, as he waved the gun in their direction. The third, however, made a run for one of the computer terminals. He was likely going to sound an alert, his hurried movements made this apparent. Valkas did not allow him to do so, firing the bulky Calsharan pistol before the engineer could even get halfway to the terminal. His aim was low, intentionally so, and he put the searing bolt of blue energy in the engineer's lower left leg. He yelped in pain, as the bolt sizzled into his flesh, before stumbling upon the floor.

Suddenly, Valkas was holding the gun out towards Joanne. She turned to him, the gun offered to her hilt-first.

"Take it and watch them," he told her. Joanne did as he requested, taking the bulky pistol (at least in her smaller, human hands) and training it in the direction of the three engineers. Their faces were hidden behind black respirator masks and visors, although she could almost feel their eyes burning into her with a mix of contempt and uncertainty. Valkas walked over to what she assumed was the main control terminal, right before the observation window. The main reactor was an immense half-sphere, set into the floor of the wide-open room beyond. Energy pylons were at either side of it, with bolts of blue energy darting between them and the reactor itself.

One of the Calsharans barked at Valkas in their native tongue, as the young soldier looked over the controls and considered how best to proceed. Valkas glanced back at his countryman, eyes narrowed in a frown as he answered the question (at least, that was what Joanne assumed it to be) with an equally incisive tone of voice.

"What's he saying?" Joanne asked, keeping her aim on the two engineers still standing. The third was on the floor, clutching at his bleeding leg. For all the heat behind the energy bolt, it had not caused full cauterisation, and instead a sizeable amount of blood was pouring from the wound. Was that an intentional design choice on the part of the Calsharan weapon manufacturers? Just another thing to add to her growing concern about them and the threat they posed.

"Just asking me what I'm doing," Valkas said. He tapped in a few commands, pausing every so often with a look of uncertainty crossing his features. "I'm shutting down the hyperdrive. More than that, I'm going to outright wreck it. That way there's no chance of them catching up to us."

"Won't that strand them out here?"

"For a few days, until they can fix it." He tapped in a further few commands. A satisfied look appeared on his face, and Joanne saw him smile. "I think I've done it. The hyperdrive controls should be exposed." As if on cue, a section of the ceiling above him opened up, revealing a compartment within packed full of glowing crystals and transparent circuit-boards, not unlike those found in installations of Ancient design. Joanne watched, as Valkas took a step back, regarding the exposed controls with interest. At that point, he looked to Joanne, and put out a hand for the gun. She gave it to him, and with the weapon in hand Valkas took aim at the sensitive control crystals.

"Are you sure…?" Joanne began, but her attention was diverted by one of the Calsharan engineers. He was up on his feet in a flash, and he made a beeline for Valkas, intent on taking the fight to him. Valkas heard him coming, and spun around immediately, firing his gun more on impulse than with any real thought behind it. The bolt hit the engineer in the chest, sending him falling, a smoldering hole blown through where his heart would have been. He collapsed onto the floor, stumbling over a computer terminal, smearing dark red blood across the controls as he went. Valkas regarded the now dead engineer with somewhat widened eyes, as if uncertain of what to make of this latest action. He had, after all, just killed one of his own.

"You fool," Valkas barked, and he regarded the other two engineers with an angered snarl. "All you had to do was stay where you were!" He pointed the gun at the other engineer still standing, and he seemed to get the message as he lowered himself to his knees, hands held up. Valkas took another look at the dead engineer, and Joanne could see the conflict on his face in the glare in his eyes and the way his nostrils flared as anger swept through him. After a moment, he turned his attention back to the control crystals, and without hesitation he blasted the lot of them. The bolt of energy shattered the cluster of crystals into hundreds of tiny shards, and upon their destruction several red lights and warning signs lit up across the terminals in the engine control room. Lights flickered, as power systems attempted to compensate for the sudden loss of an important system, and there was an abrupt, almost sickening lurch that made Joanne stumble somewhat as the ship dropped out of hyperspace.

Valkas kept his gun trained upon the two other engineers, as he started for the exit. Joanne followed him, feeling a little vulnerable without a gun on her. The engineer who was yet to be shot could easily have tackled her, and with the kind of physical strength these Calsharans had he would likely overpower her. With Valkas backing her up, she supposed she need not have worried, Still, the thought that even one of these guys could simply break her neck with their bare hands did cross her mind and it was a thought not so easily dismissed.

"Let's get to the hangar," Valkas said, as he stopped by the exit of the engine control room. He allowed Joanne to walk out ahead of him, before he turned around and joined her. As the door slid shut behind them, Valkas blasted the control panel on its left, a likely means to keep it from opening again without some serious work.

They started back for the elevator-transporter pad, with Joanne feeling confident that they could take it straight to the hangar. Valkas must have been thinking the same thing. Even so, as they strode down the corridor towards it, there was the unmistakable white flash of light as it activated. The light shone through the small window in the middle of the door, and upon seeing it both Valkas and Joanne moved for the relative cover of a nearby alcove in the wall. The door of the elevator/transporter pad slid open, and a trio of armoured Calsharan soldiers walked in. The one in the lead was in a familiar set of armour, with Joanne recognizing the silver highlights and trimming around the shoulder pads and chest piece as indicative of an officer's rank. The lack of a helmet helped too, and the face she saw was that of Toron, Valkas' older brother. He carried a pistol, and the two armoured soldiers with him carried rifles. The two of them fanned out across the corridor, with Toron moving in the lead.

Valkas and Joanne were trapped. They could not move without revealing themselves, and Toron and his compatriots were likely to spot them anyway as they went by. She glanced at Valkas, able to see in his eyes the same sort of conflict she had seen on him when he had shot the engineer. She saw him take a breath, and with the gun in hand he stepped out into the corridor, raising the pistol and levelling it at his older brother.

Toron stopped, as did his two subordinates. His gaze met with that of his brother, and there was a prolonged silence between the two. Joanne remained hidden, at least for now. Without a weapon, there was not much she could do.

"I had a feeling you would attempt to disable our vessel," Toron said. "You are the only one among the humans who would know exactly how to achieve such an end." His voice was level, with little emotion behind it. This was simply business to him, no matter who he might have been faced with. Toron was a soldier through-and-through, and had he been ordered to outright execute his younger brother, he would have done just that. His two subordinates trained their rifles upon Valkas, but they did not fire. They waited for their commander to give the word.

"Are you here to kill me?" Valkas asked.

"Only if necessary." Toron narrowed his eyes. They were the same as Valkas', amber and piercing, yet belying a thoughtfulness that Joanne had come to find endearing, at least in Valkas' case. As for Toron, he had come across in their first conversation as one far too heavily bound to their position and their role, completely under the sway of the military they served. Loyalty was all well and good, but in Toron's case it seemed as if he was perhaps loyal to a fault.

"You want me to surrender?"

"It would be the easiest option for you." Toron stood his ground, hands clasped behind his back, gun still in its holster at his waist. "As much as you might believe otherwise, I do not wish to kill my own brother. Family always comes first."

"That's so easy for you to say," Valkas countered. "You were always the favourite."

Now Toron's face seemed to relax, and he offered his brother an amused look.

"We've been over this," he stated. "There is no favouritism—"

"No, of course not." With the look on his face, Joanne thought that he might fire. Something stopped him, and it appeared that for all his frustration, family did indeed come first. Valkas was not about to kill his brother, no matter how much animosity was between them.

Joanne continued to watch from where she was hidden, crouched behind a few errant metal crates. There was a small metal tool sitting upon one of them, not dissimilar to a wrench, and it was sitting a little too close to the edge. Joanne was only vaguely aware of it, and as she took a step back to put herself further out of sight, she knocked the crate and sent the alien wrench falling off of the side. It clanked loudly upon the metal floor, and as soon as it happened all eyes turned in her direction.

Valkas was the first to react. Prioritizing targets, he quickly shifted his aim and planted a shot in the chest of the soldier on Toron's right. As he fell, Valkas ducked as the other soldier fired at him, the blast flying over his head in the space he had just been occupying. He pulled the trigger on his pistol again, hitting the other soldier in the stomach. Both were down, leaving only Toron standing, and by this point he had pulled out his own gun and was taking aim.

Joanne could only watch as the scene played out before her in the space of only a few seconds. Valkas' reaction speed was fast, but so was his brother's. Toron had his gun drawn now, and in response Valkas somersaulted to one side, moving behind a crate as his brother fired. The bolt hit the floor behind him, missing him by only a few inches, bringing up a puff of smoke and a flash of blue flame.

Toron remained where he stood, firing again and again in the wake of his younger brother. Valkas rose from behind the crate, and the shot he fired next hit Toron in the left shoulder. He snarled in both anger and pain, his face scrunching up at the burning sensation. He stumbled backwards, one hand clutching the smoking wound above his left pectoral.

Valkas rose to his feet and turned to Joanne, who had just emerged from hiding. He gestured for the elevator/transporter room, not that she had to be told twice. Valkas followed after her, keeping his eyes trained in the direction Toron had fallen back in. At least one of the soldiers he had shot was still alive, albeit writhing where he lay and unable to stand.

Joanne came to the door and it slid open. Behind her, Valkas took another shot at where his brother had taken cover, putting a hole into the wall behind him. Toron had fallen back into a doorway, clutching at his wounded shoulder whilst he used his good arm to raise his pistol and return fire. As Valkas neared the elevator/transporter pad, Toron sent a well-aimed shot in his brother's direction, this one hitting Valkas in the side. Joanne's eyes widened with shock as Valkas stumbled onto the transporter, clutching at the side of his stomach with a pained grimace on his face. He practically fell backwards against her, and Joanne tried to catch him, despite his bulk and weight. Behind him, the door slid closed, with Toron marching towards them, firing away. Bolts struck the door, leaving scorch marks in their wake, but before he could come close enough to the door for it to slide open, Joanne had turned to the display behind her and hit one of the marked locations on the layout of the ship. There was a flash of light, and the familiar brief tingling sensation, before they and the metal crates with them were deposited somewhere close to the hangar bay.

Joanne felt Valkas move out of her grasp, blood running down his side. She took a look at the wound, and it appeared to have been more of a graze than a direct hit. Ahead, the door slid open onto a narrow grey corridor, and both she and Valkas stumbled out of it.

"Are you all right?" Joanne asked. She looked down both ends of the corridor. No one else was around, at least for now, allowing her to turn her attention to Valkas. He was still standing, although at the moment he had taken to leaning against a nearby wall, clutching at his wounded side. A worried look crossed his face, and he nodded towards the elevator/transporter.

"Shut it down," he told her, his voice strained from the pain. He held out the gun for her, and Joanne figured that by 'shutting it down' he meant damage it so no one could use it. At least that way Toron and his friends could not pursue them through it.

Joanne stepped up to the transporter pad and blasted the control panel, along with the holographic display. Sparks flew and smoke exploded forth, not to mention a red warning light began to blink. She fired a few more shots into it, putting out even the red warning light. By the time she was done, the controls were a mess of smoking, blackened holes, exposed wiring and pouring smoke. No one would be using this transporter pad anytime soon.

Satisfied with her handiwork, Joanne returned to Valkas. Still clutching at his side, he started down the corridor. The expression he wore was a determined one, and Joanne followed him, unable to put aside her growing worry over his wounded state. She could do little about it, as she had no first aid items on her, and God only knew where the Calsharans kept theirs.

"Are you all right?" She repeated, walking up alongside him. Valkas simply kept on moving, headed for the hangar, however far that was now. He only glanced at her as he moved, his face a mix of determination and pain.

"I'll be fine." He did not sound fine, and the blood trickling out of the wound at his side indicated as much. Still, he kept moving, and Joanne had little other option but to follow. She might have helped him along, but somehow she figured that the burly Calsharan did not need her help, nor did he probably want it.


	31. In the Line of Fire

**In the Line of Fire**

John was surprised to find the transporter pads on this alien ship. He was immediately reminded of those on Atlantis, and after both Valkas and Joanne had gone their own way, he found himself coming upon one of the transporters and realising, without a second look, that they were practically identical to those on Atlantis.

Daniel helped Natalia along a short distance behind him, with the alien, Aithris, keeping watch on their six o'clock. John was still undecided on what to make of this latest addition to their little bunch, but he figured he could think about it more later, preferably when they were off of this ship and on their way back to Earth.

"Would you look at that?" John said aloud, as the door slid open onto the transporter pad. The screen at the wall provided a layout of the ship, not unlike the one on the display of the Calsharan palm-sized computer Valkas had handed him. "Does this look familiar to you, Daniel?"

"Ah, should it?" Daniel looked to the small, empty room before them and frowned. "Looks like a storage closet, really." His eyes went to the screen at the wall, and his frown shifted into a look of recognition. "You don't think…?"

"I think it's worth a shot," John said, and he stepped into the glorified 'storage closet'. The others followed, with Aithris looking about the place with what could only be confusion in his blazing red eyes. John had often assumed red eyes meant 'bad', but he supposed that was just a thought he had developed from watching too many movies. Still, he could not deny that Aithris had a fierce look about him, despite Daniel's claims that he was on their side.

"What are we doing?" Aithris asked, his dulcet tones fitting for a radio show host. "Are we not making our way to the hangar?"

"We are." John turned his attention to the display on the wall. The layout of the ship was not labelled with any alien words, not that those would help him much, but it was obvious what parts were what. The hangar, for instance, could only be the large open section in the centre of the ship, the 'underbelly' so-to-speak. Granted, he was only guessing but it seemed like a good guess and even if he was wrong, they could always hitch a ride on another pad and try again. The rest of the group followed him inside, and John hit the point on the map he assumed was closest to the hangar. The doors behind them slid shut, and for a second, they were enveloped in a bright, white light. It was gone in the blink of an eye, as was the accompanied tingling sensation. When it was over, the door before them slid open, revealing a different corridor, made obvious by the slightly different shade of grey on its walls.

"I think the question here is, where did the Calsharans get this kind of beaming technology?" Daniel asked aloud. John was first off of the transporter, the Calsharan pistol he carried held at the ready. It was a bulky weapon for a 'sidearm', built for the large hands and strong grips of the Calsharans themselves. With both hands on the gun, he checked either end of the corridor, satisfied to see that the coast was clear, for now at least.

"The Ancients?" John suggested.

"Like what's in Atlantis, sure, that much is clear." Daniel helped Natalia along, with Aithris following. The alien's red eyes darted about alert, searching for any potential threats. The ship's corridors were oddly quiet, and John could only imagine where the hundreds of soldiers stationed on board could be waiting for them. It stood to reason that the hangar was under heavy guard, if they were aware that their prisoners had escaped. The only reliable way off of the ship was in a smaller craft, so putting the hangar on full alert was the obvious thing to do. Did that mean John and his team had a small army between them and the hangar? Most likely. He had a sinking feeling in his gut, as he considered this very likely possibility.

"But we haven't been able to duplicate that kind of short-range teleportation," Daniel added. "Even the Asgard beams have some kind of minimum distance, for safety. Those Ancient teleporters don't have that kind of problem."

"So, what are you saying?" John turned to Daniel, as they filed out into the corridor. "That these Calsharans are more advanced than we are?"

"I'm saying that they have an edge or two we don't," Daniel replied. "Which isn't surprising, if they've been as isolationist as they are. If they managed to fight off the Goa'uld, then there's no telling what kind of advancements they've made over centuries without some outside force limiting them. If they found an Ancient outpost several hundred years before…"

"Then they worked it out before we ever could," John finished. "I know what you're saying. How come we never ran into these guys sooner?"

"The galaxy is a big place. And I mean, mind-bogglingly huge. Billions of stars, with billions of potentially habitable planets. Not even the Goa'uld could have controlled all of that, even at the height of their power." He paused, as he considered the implications. "We might have underestimated the kind of secrets this galaxy contains."

"Which, I'm sure, gets you all very excited," John remarked. He might not have known Daniel all that well, but he knew all about his love of exploring the unknown and discovering new, historical information.

"Now hardly seems the most prudent time for this discussion." Aithris' voice broke into the exchange, although his tone was respectful rather than frustrated. "We should find our way to the hangar, before the entire soldier complement of this vessel blocks our path to it. They will most likely be aware of our escape by this point."

John nodded in agreement. He held up the Calsharan palm-computer, the map before them not dissimilar to the life-sign detectors they had found on Atlantis. Had the Calsharans duplicated that technology as well? Aithris was right, about now not being a good time. John motioned to the right-hand end of the corridor and started down it, with the others following. What they needed was more guns, as so far he carried the only weapon amongst the four of them. He wondered, briefly, how Joanne and Valkas were doing. Even if his group made it off the ship, if the hyperdrive was not offline then it would likely be a very short flight. With the way this big cruiser had caught up with them, they did not stand a chance if those engines were not offline.

"How far to the hangar?" Daniel asked, as he kept pace with John just a few steps off to his left, helping Natalia along.

"I'm not sure. There's not really a scale on this thing…" John squinted at the display, and for a moment there he thought that maybe his eyesight was not as good as it had once been. That was just a paranoid thought on his part, as he had passed his eye test just fine prior to being put on the mission. Still, it was the kind of thinking that was hard to avoid as one got older. Every ache and pain that sprung up about the body was a trigger for all sorts of over-worrying. What was likely a mere cramp could send the imagination spinning into all manner of less fortunate possibilities.

John took the group around a corner, to a longer, wider corridor that, according to the map, went straight into the central hangar. There were no guards here, oddly enough. The whole situation stunk to high heaven, and John felt himself become far tenser and alert as they approached the thick bulkhead doors barring their path into the hangar. There were a few smaller doors along the corridor's length, and as they went by them Aithris checked each one. Most were locked, and the two or so that opened revealed little more than storerooms packed full of equipment and tools, no doubt intended for use on any ships that might be parked in the hangar.

The door did not open as they approached. John regarded it briefly, his eyes going to the control panel on his left. Walking up to it, he was met with a bunch of buttons in alien symbols he did not recognise. He glanced at Daniel, who was about to walk over when Aithris spoke up again.

"I have some familiarity with Calsharan systems," he said, coming forward. John stepped aside, allowing the alien access to the control panel. Aithris stopped before it, eyeing it thoughtfully as he considered how best to proceed. With one hand, he tapped a few of the buttons on the panel, paused, and then tapped a few more. John watched him, about to comment that he looked as if he did not know what he was doing, only to be taken somewhat aback when the bulkheads began to slide open.

They moved steadily, revealing the vast hangar bay beyond. It was certainly larger than anything on an Earth-made vessel, the wide cavernous space populated by several small craft of a design he had never seen before. Calsharan fighters or transports, presumably, parked about the bay with metal crates, mobile sets of metal steps and smaller, wheeled transports dotted about. Walkways crisscrossed up high, suspended from the ceiling on long cables and metal pylons. The whole room was well-lit from lights set in the walls, floors and ceiling. And at the far end, the opening of the hangar, looking out onto the blazing blue-white swirls of hyperspace. Obviously shielded, John surmised, otherwise they would be dead and floating out into that strange, inter-dimensional void. If anything, the hangar reminded John of something out of _Star Wars_, if only for ease of reference.

There was a staggering lack of life in the hangar. He stepped into the large expanse, eyes scanning their surroundings carefully, with the kind of trained eye only someone with his level of experience developed. The Goa'uld bomber was in the centre of the hangar, its rear-ramp lowered, as the Calsharans had searched it upon bringing the group on board. The other craft of Calsharan design were a mix of two different kinds, the majority of which being sleek, grey-metal fighters that reminded John of the F-302s he used to fly. These were definitely more refined, with aesthetic curves and a cockpit built within a sharp chevron shaped-structure. The other ships, of which there were a handful, were larger wing-shaped craft that John surmised may have been bombers, as they certainly had the space to carry heavy payloads. Overall, there were a couple dozen of these Calsharan fighters and bombers lined up through the hangar. The Goa'uld _alkesh_ was the odd one out, and it was also his team's best means of getting off of this ship.

So, where were the Calsharans? John moved slowly across the hangar, alert for any sign of movement, hands clasping the Calsharan pistol tightly.

"Does anyone else feel like this is too easy?" He asked aloud. There was a good way to the Goa'uld bomber, with crates and parked fighters as the only cover between them and there. About halfway across the hangar, John became aware of the sound of footsteps from somewhere up ahead, and as he watched he saw four figures seemingly materialise out of thin air. There was a ripple where each of them emerged, and their shapes became discernible from the way the light seemed to bend where they stood. The cloaking devices they used deactivated, and four armed and armoured Calsharan soldiers appeared with rifles levelled at John and his team.

Another four of them appeared behind the group, weapons held at the ready. John supposed this was typical of his luck. It was one thing to be attempting to escape from a bunch of militaristic lizard people armed with energy weapons and fitted with armour suits; it was another thing to try and escape lizard people capable of cloaking themselves from the naked eye.

"You're kidding," John said aloud, as he regarded the four in front of him, and then turned to the other four behind them. "That just isn't fair at all."

"Why play fair, Colonel?" A familiar voice sounded from somewhere in front of him, and John turned back around. Fleet Commander Cassalis had appeared between the four soldiers ahead, although he figured that she had not been cloaked. Rather, she had descended the ramp on the Goa'uld bomber, striding confidently forward to confront the wayward captives. "In a time of war, one does not play fair. Playing fair usually results in death. I, for one, have no desire to die anytime soon."

"War?" John frowned. "We're not at war, Commander."

"With your people, no." Cassalis nodded in agreement. "However, by saying that, you are simply confirming just how out of touch your people are, Colonel. There is a war coming, and it is one the Calsharan people have been preparing themselves for a thousand years. You must forgive our caution and our treatment of you, but we are still trying to determine whether we should consider the humans of Earth a friend, or a foe."

"We're explorers." It was Daniel who said this, and he stepped forwards, with Natalia leaning against a nearby set of boxes. She had released from him on her own accord, being the kind of person who would prefer to avoid asking for help from anyone. "Peaceful explorers. That's what we've always been."

"Peaceful explorers who have defeated the Goa'uld, among other threats." Cassalis' specticism was blatant. John recognised the tone of voice, and it was that of someone who had already made up their mind. "You use their technology with your own. Not to mention your ties to the Asgard, which we are well aware of. You have gained technology that you simply have no right to have, that is far in excess of anything that you came up with on your own."

"But your ship, I've seen its systems. The teleporters, not to mention the cloaking devices. Those are Ancient in design." Daniel's voice took on a slightly more impassioned tone, as he pressed his point further. "You didn't design it yourself…"

"My people have had centuries to perfect what we discovered," Cassalis interrupted. "And unlike you, we have not used our new technological sophistication to spread our influence across the galaxy and interfere with the affairs of others. May I remind you, that the Lucian Alliance was a result of your people's interference? Had it not been for you, those pests would never have risen to any prominence. And be thankful that my people saw it fit to wipe them out before they could gain any further notoriety."

"You wiped them out?" Daniel was surprised. John, on the other hand, narrowed his eyes.

"Yeah, that's what she told me earlier." John made eye contact with the Fleet Commander. From the look in them, he might have figured she was enjoying this. "How many civilians did you 'accidentally' kill in this crusade of yours?"

"Innocent people die all the time." The matter-of-fact way she said this told John all he needed to know about Calsharan military 'behaviour'. More precisely, the kind of thinking the ones in charge had. "Besides, we did the galaxy a service. Those criminals were a menace, surely you can agree with that?"

"You can't possibly see us as a threat?" Daniel asked. He took a few steps forward, as if he intended to approach the Commander. John put up one hand in front of him, signalling him to hold back. Their eyes met, and he made sure that Daniel got his message: do not push it. These Calsharans were still mostly unknown, unpredictable at best. And with all the guns pointed at them, they could not take any chances.

"We're leaving, Commander," John stated, meeting her gaze and delivering as sharp a look as she did to him. "We're leaving, and we won't bother you again."

"Off to save your world?" Cassalis smirked. "Would you be surprised to know we may have a lead on those aliens you mentioned?"

John quirked one brow, sceptical.

"Oh, yeah? And what would that be?"

Now Cassalis was positively gloating. Good. That was something John could work to his advantage.

"A stargate address. I was thinking of sending some scouts to investigate, but if it is true that these alien friends of yours are intent on attacking your home-world, then perhaps it's better we leave them to it?"

"That sounds mighty careless," John said.

"They're your enemies, Colonel. Not ours. It's not our fight."

John noticed the palm-computer she had clipped to the belt at her waist. If push came to shove, and he felt it most likely would, then that was one thing he wanted to get hold of. Not that the odds were much in their favour, at the moment. They were surrounded, and he supposed he should have expected this ambush when coming in here.

"We're leaving," he said again. "Don't try and stop us."

"You're surrounded, Colonel. Let's try and avoid any trouble."

John half-smiled when he heard this. He glanced over at Daniel, who was giving him a worried look, as if telling him to not do anything stupid. Yet, at the same time, even Daniel could see where the situation was headed.

"You want to make us your enemy?" More of a rhetorical question, and John knew he was taking a gamble by asking it. The expression on Cassalis' face spoke volumes, especially in regards to the superior attitudes of her species.

"You want to make _us_ your enemy?"

She was confident, that was apparent. John was about to say something more, when the entire ship around them suddenly lurched. Just about everyone in the hangar stumbled as the ship dropped out of hyperspace, even Cassalis, who leaned against a nearby crate to steady herself. If there was ever a time to act, now was it. Beyond the hangar opening, the swirling energies of hyperspace had disappeared, replaced with the black, starry void of space.

John raised his gun, and he was quick to determine which one of the soldiers ahead was the most immediate threat. The one on the far right, who had kept his footing, and was at the current split-second in the best position to shoot. John blasted him, planting the bolt of energy into his chest, a puff of smoke erupting forth from the impact as he went down. Behind him, Aithris reacted in turn, lunging for the nearest of the soldiers. There, he wrapped his arms around the Calsharan, hands going for the rifle in his grasp. The weapon fired as they struggled, with Aithris spinning the soldier such that the volley of energy bolts slammed into two of the other soldiers near him. Both of them fell, smoking holes blasted through their armour. The fourth one at their rear spun around and returned fire, only to shoot his comrade about three times as Aithris held him in front of himself. As the soldier fell limp against him, Aithris was able to pry the rifle out of the soldier's grip before putting his finger to the trigger and returning the favour. The fourth soldier at the group's rear was gunned down with an accurate pair of bolts that struck him in the chest, sending him tumbling backwards against a few metal crates, blood smearing across them in his wake.

This all happened in a matter of seconds. John had gone to shoot at one of the soldiers ahead, hitting him in the shoulder before his opponent returned fire. John dived to the floor, firing a few more blasts from his Calsharan pistol, sending one of them into the soldier's visor. There was a puff of flame and smoke, with metal melding with flesh and blood splattering amongst the mess. The soldier tumbled down with all the grace of a sack of potatoes, the front of his helmet gone, revealing a charred mess of flesh and bone.

Daniel had gone for one of the other fallen soldiers, hefting up their dropped rifle with both hands. Cassalis and her two remaining cohorts scattered, going for cover amongst the crates and equipment. John scrambled to his feet, taking a shot at Cassalis as she ducked behind a stack of metal crates. The bolt skimmed the top of the boxes, leaving a searing scorch mark behind it. He turned to the team, and he signalled them to move forward.

"Come on!" He started for the Goa'uld bomber. At the far-right side of the hangar, a door slid open and another four armoured Calsharan soldiers came filing in. Straight away, they ran for cover and opened fire, with bolts of blue energy zipping across the hangar, leaving rapidly dissipating vapour trails in their wakes. Whatever edge he and his team had just gained was gone in a flash now, and it was likely there were many more of the Calsharan security teams on their way.

John ducked as a few of the bolts rushed by him at far too close a margin to be comfortable. On his left, Cassalis and her two cohorts had taken up position, with the Fleet Commander's face scrunched up into a look of genuine anger. She was not happy, whether it was the fact the pesky humans were about to escape, or that she had just lost several of her troops. Whatever the reason, she had all the look of someone determined to commit some grievous bodily harm upon her enemies, and the way her eyes met with John's for a brief moment in the thick of the fight made this readily apparent. He had just made another enemy, and part of him wondered just what kind of problem he had started here. Then again, it had been the Calsharans who had 'started' it. They had simply forced his hand. He sure was not about to let them cart him off to some alien prison in the ass-end of space.

"There's more of them!" Daniel shouted, alien rifle in hand, as another door at the opposite side of the hangar slid open. Another three of the Calsharan soldiers came racing inside, weapons at the ready. More energy bolts joined the growing chaos, and John could see right away that they were about to become surrounded. They needed to get out of here, and fast.

Natalia was crouched by a stack of crates, and her hands found their way around one of the dropped Calsharan rifles. Bringing her head above the boxes, she took a few shots at the oncoming soldiers, sending one of them falling. Even so, the rest were moving in, advancing and covering one another, confident in their movements for the fact that they had sheer numbers on their side.

John took a further few shots at Cassalis, causing her to dive into the relative safety behind one of the parked fighters. The bolts he fired burned a few marks onto the parked fighter but did little else, and he was forced to hit the floor as a heavy hail of plasma fire came his way. Bolts struck the boxes near him, spraying flecks of molten metal with each hit.

What they needed right now was another lucky break. Something told him they were not about to get it.

* * *

Even in his current condition, Valkas pressed on. Joanne was startled by his perseverance, if only because he looked to be in a good deal of pain. The blaster wound at his side continued to trickle blood, and he kept one hand to it in a somewhat futile attempt to keep the bloodflow contained. And despite this, he continued to lead the way, taking her through a transporter and into a corridor that must have been near to the hangar. She only surmised as much from the sounds of weapons fire coming from nearby, which told her that the Colonel and the others had fallen into trouble. It was close, she could hear the sounds as if they were right next door, yet Valkas took her in the opposite direction. As soon as she realised this, she stopped and shot him a frown.

"Where are we going?" She asked him. He stopped and turned around, his face bearing the look of someone who simply did not have time for doubts.

"We need more firepower." He gritted his teeth, wincing at a sudden spike of pain. "It's not far."

Whatever 'it' was, in this case, Joanne had her doubts. If the Colonel needed help, she wanted to be there to give it. Nonetheless, she had come to trust Valkas enough to follow him here. And that she did, with Valkas taking her down a short corridor and up to a locked door, a sign above it indicating some level of importance. The Calsharan words were incomprehensible to her, but to Valkas they seemed to tell him just what he wanted. He toyed with the control panel for a moment, before he huffed in annoyance and instead put his fingers around it and pulled, hard. The outer shell of the panel ripped free, revealing the transparent circuit-boards and crystals behind it. Joanne waited anxiously as he attempted to force open the door, all the while the sounds of battle continued from nearby.

"Come on…" She muttered, and as she did so, the door slid open. Valkas emitted a satisfied huff, before he stumbled into the room with Joanne following. This was an armoury, she saw that immediately: racks lined the walls and along a central aisle, all of which were absolutely filled with Calsharan weapons. The pistols and rifles she recognised, although there were others. Small, cylindrical devices she assumed to be grenades, built out of the same black metal as the other guns and armour. Not to mention even heavier weapons, including what appeared to be some kind of rocket launcher as well as something that was much bigger than the rifles, and probably much heavier. Valkas, in his wounded state, opted for one of the rifles, but he also took up several of the grenades, stuffing them into pouches before he took one of the armoured vests on display and put it on. This allowed him to clip the pouches to it.

"You might want to take the big one," he said, and he pointed a hand to a bigger, almost cannon-like rifle amongst the others. Joanne put her hands to it and picked it up, startled by the weight. It was heavy, but not to such an extent that it was too much for her to carry. She could handle it, especially since they may not be using it for long.

"Suppression cannon," Valkas said, noticing her slightly confused expression. "You can probably gather from the name what it does."

"You don't want it?" She asked him.

"Maybe if I wasn't hurt." His voice still sounded a little strained. "But I think you're the kind of woman who appreciates big guns."

"In more ways than one." Joanne smirked as she said this, even if Valkas paid the remark no attention. He started for the exit and she followed, eager to find the others. If they needed help, she felt that she had all she needed to deliver it.

* * *

John found himself ducking behind a stack of metal crates as enemies encroached on all sides. He continued to take shots at those soldiers he could see, but despite the occasional hit there was no stopping the inevitable. They were outnumbered and surrounded, with the stolen Goa'uld bomber tantalisingly close. He could make a run for it, but there was a very good chance he would simply get gunned down partway there. It was not something he, or anyone else on the team, could chance. Not unless they thinned down the Calsharan numbers, somehow. And that seemed unlikely, if most of the cruiser's complement of soldiers were on their way here.

Aithris and Daniel were off to his left, exchanging fire with those soldiers coming from the left flank. And Natalia was a few metres from where John had taken position, trying to put a stop to those soldiers coming from the right. Cassalis was among those, and John could just see her, crouched behind a parked fighter and motioning to the other soldiers.

There was no other choice, really. They would have to make a run for the bomber and hope that they could take-off before they got shot to pieces. There was the matter of Joanne and Valkas, two people he had no intention of leaving behind. They had shutdown the hyperdrive, it only seemed fair to give them time to get here. Time that, as much as John hated to admit, they simply did not have.

The entrance at the far end of the hangar opened then, the same door that John and the others had come in by. Two very familiar figures appeared in the doorway, and John felt some relief at seeing them. Joanne and Valkas came rushing inside seemingly uncaring for the enemy soldiers all around, and John noticed the large gun that Joanne brandished before her. It must have been heavy, as she kept it at her hip and opened fire on the encroaching Calsharan soldiers. A rapid stream of blue energy bolts poured from the barrel, far faster than anything coming from the pistols or rifles, being more akin to some kind of rapid-fire mini-gun.

Joanne swept the fire across the nearest bunch of soldiers, cutting a swathe through them and sending at least three of them falling. Valkas came forwards, holding his rifle in one-hand whilst his other pulled what John assumed was some kind of grenade from a pouch on his armoured vest. The pair had obviously been out getting loaded up, as the armoured vest was a new addition to Valkas' outfit. He sent the grenade sailing through the air to some of the soldiers on the right flank, and the pair it landed closest to immediately scrambled for cover. The explosion sent forth a flash of blue flame that was over in an instant, a wave of dust and smoke blossoming forth that knocked aside several metal boxes and set off alarms about the hangar. The two soldiers nearest to it were thrown aside like ragdolls, and neither of them got back up once they had come to rest, their armour charred and blackened.

John could not help but smile, as the pair came striding forwards, shooting their way closer to the rest of the team. It was the distraction John needed, and he shouted at the others.

"Go for the bomber!" He swivelled about as one of the Calsharan soldiers on his left rose from cover, attempting to advance. John blasted him down, sending him falling backwards behind some boxes. He continued to pour on the fire at the remaining soldiers, aware that a good half a dozen more had just charged into the hangar from the left-hand entrance.

"I'll cover you!" And that he did, all the while he moved for Natalia. She was propped against some crates, taking shots at the soldiers advancing from the right flank, Cassalis being among them. John had very much wanted to wipe the smug look off of the Fleet Commander's face, but at the moment she was just out of reach, and he did not fancy his chances at trying to make a go for her.

"Let's go, Sergeant." John sidled up alongside her, putting out his left arm for her to grab a hold of. Ahead, Joanne and Valkas pressed their advantage, with Joanne mowing down another pair of Calsharan soldiers as they moved in from the left entrance. The weight of the weapon was putting a bit of a strain on her, as was the simple act of firing it, for every time she did she had to brace herself hard to keep from falling backwards. Nonetheless, the Captain persevered, coming up on the rest of the team with Valkas in tow. It was then that John noticed that their Calsharan team member was wounded, blood visibly trickling down his side from a wound near his stomach. Was it serious? For all the disrust he might have harboured for their alien team member, he did not want to lose any more people.

Daniel and Aithris began to run for the bomber, firing back at the enemies as they went. John and Natalia did what they could to cover the pair, with Daniel being the first up the ramp. He would get the engines started. As for Aithris, John did not know what to make of him. It appeared that they had picked up another stray.

Natalia finally grabbed John's proffered arm and he helped her to her feet. The Sergeant came across as too prideful to really want any help, but there was no denying her recent handicap. Nearby, Joanne and Valkas started for the bomber, with Joanne using her oversized energy cannon to force the advancing soldiers into cover. Energy bolts filled the air, and she swept the hail of fire over another unfortunate Calsharan, who twitched and convulsed as each bolt seared through his arm and into his flesh. A good dozen of them, John saw, before he finally went down.

The bomber's engines whirred into life at that moment. Daniel was getting them started. John helped Natalia along, taking a few steps towards the bomber with her in tow. Suddenly, and with a stab of sheer shock that went through his very core, he watched as Natalia seemed to convulse. A puff of smoke and flame erupted from her lower back and she fell forwards. She hit the floor before John softly, as he was able to ease her landing, and she landed on her stomach, eyes closed and a smoldering hole in her back. The grip she had on his hand loosened, and he felt it fall away from his grasp, all while his eyes drifted over the motionless Sergeant who now lay before him. John shifted his gaze then, directing it towards the Calsharan who had shot her. He stood several metres behind them, rifle raised, as he emerged from the relative cover of a stack of metal boxes.

John shot him down before he could do anything further. Planting three bolts of energy into the alien's torso, the Calsharan fell clumsily to the floor, the rifle spilling from his grasp. John swivelled around to his right then, his eyes falling to Cassalis, who was crouched not far from where he was. The one responsible for this mess, and in turn, the demise of Sergeant Tarasovna. It was foolish, what he intended to do now, and would probably get him killed. Yet at that moment, it felt like the only option he had, if he wanted to resolve this situation.

As the bomber began to rise up off of the hangar floor, Joanne appeared on the rear ramp, still holding the heavy Calsharan cannon. She saw John, and the fallen Natalia, and her eyes widened as she watched John carry out his next action. He began to charge for Cassalis; it was only several metres, but in a firefight that kind of distance could spell someone's death. Joanne immediately began to lay down suppressive fire, hosing the approaching Calsharan soldiers with a hail of blue energy bolts. A few more were cut down in the swathe, with the others taking cover where they could, pinned where they were for fear of being riddled with burning holes. John was upon Cassalis in seconds, tackling the female Calsharan and sending both of them falling to the floor.

He grappled for her pistol, pushing the barrel away from him. The weapon fired, sending the bolt flying wide and into the far wall. With the alien beneath him, John put both hands to her gun, prying it from her clawed fingers with all the strength he could muster. Finally, it sprang free from her grasp, before it went clattering across the floor where it landed well out of reach. With that threat out of the way, he punched her across the jaw, once, twice, and then put a left hook across her face that struck her across one eye.

Leaving the Commander somewhat dazed, John scrambled up onto his feet, one arm around Cassalis' neck as he did so. His other hand pulled the alien pistol he had been carrying, pressing it firmly against the officer's head. Cassalis squirmed against him, but with the feel of the gun against her temple she did not put up a fight. She knew that any considerable movement from her could make John pull the trigger, even unintentionally, and despite her undying loyalty to her people, she had no desire to die for it. Self-preservation won out in the end, especially when one was dealing with a high-up alien officer. It was one thing to send your subordinates into a fight in your stead, but to put yourself in direct danger? That took a special kind of leader, and Cassalis may not have been one of those.

John pulled her towards the bomber's ramp, now hovering a good half metre off of the hangar floor. As he approached, several of the Calsharans moved forwards, weapons raised. Behind him, Joanne opened fire again, causing them to scatter as the volley of blue energy fire zipped across the hangar. However, as he neared, the weapon ceased firing, and Joanne let out an annoyed huff as the weapon seemed to deplete its charge. Instead of letting fly a stream of energy blasts, it instead let out a steaming hiss, blue vapour releasing from the barrel. Something had given way inside it, leaving Joanne without the one deterrent they had against the encroaching soldiers.

"Stand back!" John pulled the officer along with him. Cassalis was slightly taller than he was, slimly built and with a scowl on her face that spoke volumes of what she thought of him. At this close proximity, John could even smell her; she was clean, with a hint of something alien amongst the otherwise neutral scent. Blood trickled from her mouth, caused by a cut that had opened up on her lower gum from one of John's blows.

"What are you going to do?" Cassalis asked him, through gritted teeth. "You can't get away with this…"

"I am, and I will." John backed up against the lowered ramp. Behind him, he felt Joanne move towards him, and she helpfully put her arms around him to help him up. Valkas appeared then, providing an extra set of hands as they not only dragged him on board, but the Fleet Commander as well. As soon as they were up, Valkas turned to shout into the craft.

"Bring it up, Daniel!" He called, and he started back into the heart of the bomber. Out in the hangar, a good dozen Calsharan soldiers had taken up positions around the ascending Goa'uld craft, weapons raised. They did not fire, in fear of hitting their Commander. Would they give chase in fighters? John figured it would not matter if they did, as this ship was going to jump into hyperspace as soon as they were clear of the Calsharan cruiser.

The rear ramp began to raise, gradually closing the group inside. Right away, Cassalis threw her weight against John, sending him into the nearest wall. The impact was enough to knock some of the wind from him and provided more than enough opportunity for the Calsharan to squirm out of his grip. John felt pain shoot across his back as he hit the wall, with Joanne stepping forwards to throw herself against the Fleet Commander. She threw a punch that Cassalis deflected with ease, before the Calsharan hit the Captain in the stomach. It made Joanne stumble, a wave of nausea rippling through her, before the Fleet Commander followed it up with a harsh backhand that struck Joanne across the face and sent her onto the floor.

The bomber was moving now, although within this part of the ship it was hard to tell, the inertial dampeners absorbing much of the feeling of momentum. By this point, the bomber was zooming out of the hangar, and within moments Daniel would have the hyperdrive set and ready to go. Meanwhile, John found himself faced with a very disgruntled Calsharan female, and the ferocious look on her reptilian features suggested that the women of the species were something to be feared. As soon as she had knocked Joanne down, she spun back around to face the Colonel. He went to raise the Calsharan pistol, only for Cassalis to swat it from his grip as if it were a toy. It clattered off to some far corner of the hold, leaving John unarmed and forced to contend with the officer with little more than his bare hands.

Cassalis practically snarled at him as John swung a punch, one she ducked underneath. She followed it with a jab to his gut, hard enough to make him hunch over from the impact. She then hit him across the face, her fist connecting with his cheek and tenderising the flesh there. Spittle and a touch of blood flew from his mouth from the blow, before John found himself stumbling onto the floor. It felt a little undignified, getting the crap beaten out of him like this. Nearby, Joanne was still on the floor, seemingly out cold. She did move a little, as if trying to stir herself out of the semi-conscious state she had fallen into, but for now she would be no help to John. He had to contend with this Calsharan female on his own, and it was increasingly appearing to be a prospect he could not at all look forward to.

The ship jumped into hyperspace then, the familiar lurch sending both John and Cassalis partway across the hold before they regained their balance. It was enough of a distraction for John to throw himself at her again, sending a right hook into her jaw that seemed to hurt his fist more than it did her. Before he knew it, she had a hand around his throat, her eyes fixed into a death glare as she pinned John against the wall and began to throttle him. Her strength was such that she had lifted him a good few inches off of the floor, and John found his attempts to pry her free were doing very little. His hands batted against her arm, to no avail; her grip tightened, threatening to crush his windpipe.

The sound of a gunshot echoed from the entrance to the hold, specifically that of a Calsharan rifle. Cassalis fell over with a yelp, releasing John immediately. He stumbled down the wall, red marks left at his neck from the Fleet Commander's powerful grip. In front of him, Cassalis had fallen onto all fours, a smoking hole shot into her lower left leg. Nearby, Valkas had reappeared, his rifle raised, the barrel releasing a thin wisp of smoke.

Blood spilled from the wound on Cassalis' leg, her eyes going to the pistol John had dropped. She began to scramble towards it, but John was faster, pouncing upon it well before she could. He spun around and pressed the barrel firmly against her head, their eyes meeting once more.

"I wouldn't try it," he suggested. Cassalis looked up at him, the ferocity in her eyes fading, and instead it was replaced with sheer frustration. Thwarted, she moved back a few paces, before Valkas was upon her. The burly male pulled her arms behind her, holding them there. Anger exploded out of her at that moment, yet all John could do was watch impassively.

"This is treason!" She directed this to Valkas, who hardly took any notice. "You court war with us, Colonel!" Now she settled her gaze upon John, and despite how much he had come to dislike her, he had to admit that she had a point. What they had just done, shooting up that hangar, was hardly going to work wonder for Earth-Calsharan relations. Would it come back to bite him in the ass later? Knowing his luck, it probably would.

"Whatever." John rubbed at his sore neck. It would bruise up for sure, make him look as if he had almost been hanged. In a way, Cassalis had come very close to doing that very thing with her bare hands. "Until then, you're going to give us some straight answers." He looked to Valkas. "Lock her in a small room somewhere."

Valkas nodded his head in acknowledgement. For someone who had apparently committed treason against his people, he appeared remarkably calm and collected. Nearby, Joanne had sat up, rubbing her head with one hand. She appeared no worse the wear, other than a headache. She watched as Valkas dragged the wounded Fleet Commander out of the hold, before she settled her eyes on the Colonel.

"What next, sir?" She asked him.

That was a very good question. John went to answer it, only to realise that he had no real plan, and thus no proper answer.


	32. The Way Back Again

**The Way Back Again**

Toron Kavellan was acting commander of the _Sword of Calshara_, now that Fleet Commander Cassalis had been taken. As such, he was surveying the scene in the central hangar, shortly after the humans and their alien allies had made their escape. It was a mess, to put it simply, and about two dozen Calsharan soldiers had been killed during the whole escapade. Unlike Cassalis, who would have been furious at such a loss, Toron made sure he was much more level-headed about it, preferring to acquire all the facts he could before he made any big calls.

The clean-up crew in the hangar was busy storing the dead in body-bags, with identification being made of each of the fallen. Toron walked through the centre of this activity, joined by two of his subordinates. He wondered how much of the killing had been done by his wayward brother, but he put the thought aside for now. Scorch marks left by energy weapons fire were dotted all over the hangar, on the walls, floors and some of the containers scattered about. Toron had never thought that something like this might happen in the heart of their flagship, and he doubted that anyone else on board had considered the possibility either. As it stood, he had inherited a mess, and he did not look forward to being the one to report it to the commanders on the home-world. They would want blood, when they learned of the loss of Cassalis. Could they afford a conflict with the humans of Earth at this time? They still knew so little about these Tauri that they would have to weigh their decisions very carefully. That was why Toron insisted on remaining level-headed, instead of allowing his personal feelings to take hold. He needed that objectivity, for he knew his own superiors would be lacking it.

He came upon the human female who had fallen in the battle. She was lying still, a plasma rifle wound at her back. He knew enough about humans to know how to check for life, and so he knelt by her before he placed two fingers upon the artery at her neck, just under the skin. While the clean-up team focused on recovering their own, it seemed that Toron was the first to bother checking the human. Dead at a glance, he realised then and there that she was anything but.

"She is still alive," he stated, as he rose back to standing. He turned to his two subordinates, gesturing to the wounded human. "Take her to the infirmary. I want her treated, but I want her under constant guard. Is that understood?"

The two soldiers nodded. They both knelt down to pick up the fallen human, with one taking up the arms and the other the legs. Toron watched as they carried her off, with some of the other personnel about giving the pair some curious looks. Most would have wanted to take out their anger on the one human survivor. Toron intended something more civilised, if only to get the answers he wanted. For he had many questions, not to mention the thought that maybe he had just acquired the means to avoid a much more volatile situation.

* * *

"Let me get this straight." John crossed his arms over his chest, his scepticism clear. He regarded both Daniel and Aithris with a look that was a mix of curiosity, and plain doubt. Both Aithris and Daniel were seated in the pilot and co-pilot's chairs, which they had swivelled around to face the Colonel. So far, they had been in hyperspace for about ten minutes, and Daniel had already laid it on him that there was some cause to fight, in a way that John supposed he should have seen coming.

"There's some old enemy out there," John said, trying to reiterate all he had just been told, "And you're out here trying to enlist help to fight them?" He settled his eyes onto Aithris, who nodded in acknowledgement.

"That is what I said, Colonel Sheppard," the alien replied. "You do not believe me, do you?"

"How can I?" John frowned. Out through the front viewport, he could see the swirling blue and white energies of hyperspace. None of the Calsharans had given chase, their vessel's engines crippled thanks to Valkas. Even so, he had expected at least a few of them to try pursuit in fighter craft, in the hopes of getting their Fleet Commander back. Thinking of her, he thought he could hear her thumping against the door of the nearby storage room.

"I've never heard of them," John added. "You didn't even tell me their name."

"Their name was lost to history," Aithris explained. "From what I understand, it is long and very difficult to pronounce."

"Show him the map." Daniel spoke then, and John watched as Aithris pulled a small, glazed disc-like object from one pocket. With a swipe of one finger, it projected forth a holographic map of the galaxy, several inches across. It looked as John expected it to, not much different from the photos he had seen. However, a whole lot of shining red dots appeared across it, practically filling the galaxy to the brim with them.

"Stargates," Aithris said. He raised his other hand, pointing to an empty stretch on the fringes of the map. "And there, an entire section without any."

"So? Maybe the Ancients didn't get round to that part." John was having a hard time buying into this, if only because he had more pressing concerns on his mind. Chief among them, the fact that a hostile alien force was going to attack Earth anytime now.

"They blocked it off for a reason, Colonel Sheppard," Aithris said, and he deactivated the map. "I am one of the last custodians tasked with ensuring this enemy never returns. And they are out there, I know this. And the Calsharans do as well."

"They do?"

"They fought them more than a thousand years ago, them and Aithris' people. An alliance of both of those races, and a few others." Daniel said this, and John looked to him, frowning again. "I thought you might be more open to this, John. We've barely scratched the surface of the stargate network as it is. The Ancients could have left so many more secrets behind…"

"Secrets that usually result in people getting killed when they're uncovered." John interrupted him. He fixed his eyes firmly upon Daniel's. "I've been there, Daniel. I've done that. So have you. Every time we stick our noses into something ancient and alien, we wind up getting our asses burned."

"The Calsharans are mobilising," Aithris said. His voice was level, his dulcet tones more fitting for a radio talk show host than a mysterious alien. "Their long-gone leader, Visala, said this foe would return. And she was right."

"This wouldn't be some prophecy mumbo-jumbo, would it?" John let out a sigh. He really did not have time for this. God only knew just how much time they really had, where the Field Marshall was concerned.

"I believe we were brought together for a reason," Aithris added. "It could be a new alliance. Your people and mine, facing this foe."

"And the Calsharans?"

"They have strayed too far from how they once were." Aithris sounded almost remorseful. "They were once an honourable people, tolerant of others and pure in goal. Now, though, they see themselves as the superior species of the galaxy. And they have the technology to back up this attitude."

John could believe that. Valkas had not displayed such attitudes, but Fleet Commander Cassalis? She most definitely had. And with her in mind, he walked over to the back end of the control centre. Both Daniel and Aithris watched him, as he approached the locked door of the small storage closet and hit a button on the panel by it. The door slid open, and Cassalis appeared in the small room beyond, one that was barely larger than a kitchen pantry. She was seated on the floor, back against the wall, her hands bound behind her with some Goa'uld-made metal bindings they had found on board the bomber. Just another useful little thing they had found on this bomber/Goa'uld personal yacht, along with ration packs intended for whatever Jaffa might have once operated this craft, and a healthy supply of water.

"What are you doing, John?" Daniel asked. He rose from his chair and started to walk over, leaving the ship on autopilot as it darted through hyperspace. Behind him, Aithris followed suit, whilst John stepped into the glorified closet. It was dimly lit within, and whatever storage boxes had been inside had been removed prior to throwing Cassalis into it. No point locking her up in the storage closet if she was able to pull some gadget out of a crate that was with her. It would be like locking MacGyver inside a storeroom, and then being surprised at his escape. John was far too savvy to allow that kind of nonsense.

Cassalis scowled up at him, utter contempt visible in her gaze. John stood over her, eyes going to her wounded leg. Valkas had hastily bandaged it up, with little more than a strip of cloth from the officer's own uniform. So far, the 'bandage' had become soaked with blood, not that Cassalis appeared to be bothered by it. If anything, the pain was just making her angrier.

"You know where they are," John stated. He squatted down in front of her, bringing him to her eye-level.

"She does?" Daniel stood in the doorway behind him.

"She told me." John glanced back at him, as he was joined by Aithris. "They tracked them somehow. Didn't you?" He turned his attention back to the female Calsharan. Her eyes were set upon him in that disdainful, contemptful way he had come to expect from her. Superior attitude indeed, he mused.

"Why would I tell you?" Cassalis spat. And she did actually spit when she said it, making sure to hit John's face with a healthy supply of spittle. He wiped it away with one sleeve, unfazed. Granted, he was half-expecting to catch some weird alien disease now, but he put the thought aside and kept his focus upon the captive alien officer.

"Because you're our prisoner," John replied. He kept his voice level, and whatever dislike he had for her was kept contained. "We can do all sorts of horrible things to you."

"You wouldn't." Cassalis smiled then, bearing her pointed teeth in a manner not unlike that of a crocodile eyeing up its prey.

"I would." John noticed that she had a palm-sized computer stowed in a pouch at her waist. He had noticed it earlier, and upon seeing where his gaze had gone the Fleet Commander moved back slightly. Now her expression gave way to something more cautious, instead of outright contemptful. John smirked in reply, before he reached over and put a hand to the device.

"Could it be on that, I wonder?" He asked aloud. The Fleet Commander could do little from her bound position as he snatched up the Calsharan pocket computer. Its similarity in feel and appearance to the Ancient devices he had seen on Atlantis told much of where the Calsharans had gained this technology; the question was, just how long had they had it at their disposal? And just what other technological marvels did they have tucked away, ready to whip them out in the face of a threat?

A glance at the display revealed Calsharan writing, none of which made any sense to John. Alien languages were not his fortè, aside from what Ancient he had come to know after his years on the Atlantis expedition. And Calsharan looked nothing like Ancient.

"Is it on here?" He asked her, holding up the device for emphasis. Cassalis just scowled at him in return. John slowly shook his head, and he rose to his feet as he did so. The Fleet Commander watched him through narrowed eyes, the dislike she had for him and his species in general evident on her face.

"I've had a very long day, Commander," John said. "I've been shot at, I've been burned, I've been beaten up. I had to crawl through a sewer. I had aliens try and sift through my mind for answers. I got thrown in a dungeon. I was put through your quarantine and doused in chemicals. I was thrown into a cell on your ship for no reason other than the fact that I, and the rest of my team, was in the wrong place at the wrong time." His calm and collected demeanour began to slip the more he spoke, and he felt the frustrations that had been building within him for the past seventy-two hours begin to boil over. "I have had to contend with the loss of an entire squad of my own people. I also have to contend with the fact that a hostile alien race plans on attacking my home-world, all for personal revenge. So, if you have any information that might help me fix at least part of this situation, I would really, _really_ like to know." With that said, he pulled the Calsharan pistol from his waist. "Tell me." It was a simple request. All he needed was a location, a stargate address, anything. And Cassalis, watching him through those mean eyes of hers, did not immediately give him what he wanted.

"Your world can burn for all I care," Cassalis said. She practically hissed the words.

"You see, Commander, that's not an option. Tell me what I want to know." He took aim at her unwounded leg with the gun. He saw her flinch, ever so slightly. John did not know just how much punishment these aliens could take, although he was willing to put it to the test.

"Threatening me won't get you what you want."

"Threatening you?" John's patience had just about worn out. "No, I'm not just going to 'threaten' you. I'm going to do to you whatever I have to in order to get what I need."

"John." Daniel spoke up from behind him. "This isn't the way."

John turned to him, holding the Calsharan computer in front of him.

"Can you work it out?" He asked Daniel. The archaeologist took the computer from his hand and looked over the display, before touching it and swiping from one screen of information to another.

"It might take some time." Daniel sounded a little put-out by this, and it was apparent that by 'time' he meant 'far more than they had'.

"Tell me where they are," John said, as he turned his gaze back to Cassalis. "Or I start putting holes in you."

"These aliens you speak of, I suspect they would be doing the galaxy a service." Cassalis sounded as haughty as ever, and it only set John's blood to boiling. "I say let them ravage your planet, if it means reducing the hold your people have on this galaxy."

"John, let's think about this." Daniel stepped up behind him. Had there been more room he might have stepped in between the gun and the Fleet Commander. "We can get back to Earth and warn them."

"She knows where they are, Daniel." John kept his eyes firmly set upon Cassalis. "We can stop them before they leave for Earth."

"Valkas can check the computer," Daniel said. He was doing his best to disarm the situation. John could admire this aspect of his character, even if it was somewhat irritating. "He can make sense of it, better than any of us can."

"How did they learn of your enemy's location?" Aithris asked this, from where he stood by the doorway. John had not given this subject much thought, he was just glad to have the information within reach. Nonetheless, he gave Cassalis an expectant glance.

"Well…?" He asked her.

"My people found the stargate's control device amongst the rubble where Ra's fortress stood," Cassalis said. She no doubt referred to the stargate's 'dial-home device'. All the while she spoke, she wore a pleased smirk. It irritated John to no end, and he found himself seriously considering shooting her then and there, if only to wipe that smug look off of her face. "We have the means of determining the last-dialled address. We suspect that it is where your enemies have gone."

"You can do that?" Daniel sounded surprised. John was no expert, but he had heard in the past that determining the last-used address from a DHD was next to impossible. Something about how the devices themselves were not equipped to do such a thing, and at best one might pull dozens of dialled addresses off of its memory in no particular order. For the Calsharans to have the means to do so, it certainly indicated a level of sophistication that no other currently existing species they had encountered had possessed.

"We can do many things, Daniel Jackson." Cassalis continued looking pleased with herself. "We could annihilate your world, if we wanted to."

"Would you?"

"If you gave us very good reason to."

John let out a frustrated huff and raised his gun. Maybe he would be giving her that 'good reason', but something told him that she was talking out of her ass.

"I've heard enough. Give us that address, right now, or I start shooting." He aimed lower, pointing the gun at her unwounded leg once more. Cassalis visibly tensed, preparing herself for the pain.

"John, please, don't do this." Daniel again, attempting to be the voice of reason. John ignored him, and instead fired his gun. However, his aim was such that the bolt hit the floor just next to Cassalis' leg. There was a flash of flame and a puff of smoke, but otherwise the Calsharan officer was unharmed. She practically jumped out of her skin when it happened, and John felt some satisfaction at seeing the alarmed way in which her eyes widened, the haughtiness gone. Daniel had frozen in place, unable to quite believe that the Colonel had shot her. He was quick to realise that he had not actually done so, and a wave of relief washed over him.

"Tell us," John barked, and this time he adjusted his aim so that his next shot would not miss. "Right now."

Cassalis seemed to pause, uncertain in her actions for what must have been the first time in a long while. Finally, she raised a hand, gesturing to the personal computer that John had handed off to Daniel.

"I'll show you," she said, through gritted teeth.

* * *

The Goa'uld personal quarters at the heart of the bomber, turned personal spacecraft, was the most comfortable room on board. As such, it was here that Valkas had settled for now, with Joanne eyeing him with concern as he slowly took off the dirty, creased vest and uniform he was wearing. The wound at his side was no longer bleeding as badly as it had been before, although it was clear from the way in which he winced and clenched his jaw that it still hurt a great deal. He had sat himself on the side of the bed, and Joanne stood nearby, unsure if she should intervene or not. He looked like he could use some help, yet she felt as if he would not want it.

"You okay there?" She asked him. They were both tired. The past couple of days had put a considerable strain upon all of them, and she could feel the muscles of her arms and legs positively crying out for relief after all the running around she had been doing. Not to mention the killing. She could not forget that, since until the other day, she had never actually killed another person. Even if most of them were aliens, the thought could not be denied: they were sentient creatures, as intelligent as humans, and presumably had loved ones of their own. How many Calsharan orphans had she created back in that hangar?

It was foolish, thinking this way. All it would do was risk impairing her judgment, when it was a matter of life and death. At the end, it was either them or her, and she was always going to choose her in such cases. Colonel Sheppard would be the first to tell her that, as would any other one of her superiors. Being a pilot, she had often flown transports prior to getting recommended to XF-306 program, so she had essentially missed out on flying actual combat missions. She wondered what it would have been like, dropping fire on villages, yet being so detached from the carnage that you were likely to feel next to nothing (unless you thought very hard about it).

The last few days had been an eye-opener, to say the least. In a number of ways, least of all revealing the sheer scope of the galaxy at large. How many other races were there, capable of interstellar travel? And how many of them were hostile? She had read the mission reports from the early years of the SGC, she knew there was a lot out there that would love nothing more than to cause death and destruction. Yet what worried her most was the fact that she, and this whole team, had run into something that no other SG team had encountered. The Calsharans had the potential to be a problem, and that was already on top of the problem provided by the Field Marshall and his weird alien bunch. Good God, it was all just piling up, was it not? Joanne could have sent herself into a deep depression if she kept thinking about it the way she was.

Valkas had put aside his vest and top, revealing his scaled, muscular torso. Joanne noticed the scars upon it right away, most faded, but nonetheless there was a good volume of them. Cuts and burn marks, marring what otherwise would have been smooth, scaly hide. Valkas noticed the way in which she was watching him, and he offered her a smile, one that abruptly gave way to a pained wince.

"When I was in captivity," Valkas began, as he used one hand to gingerly probe the wound at his side. "They put me in the sarcophagous a few times, but there's something about Calsharan physiology that makes it heal slower and less effectively. On a human, these scars would be gone. But on me?" He shook his head. "I guess those machines weren't programmed with my species in mind."

"It was that bad?"

"That minor Goa'uld, Hesat? She tortured me regularly. I think it was more because I was the most interesting thing to come her way in a very long time. The fact of the matter was, she was little more than a custodian there. Left behind to keep the place maintained until Ra returned, which he was never going to do. She simply kept up appearances to keep the locals in line." Valkas quirked a brow-ridge. "You got any first aid items? Even a simple bandage?"

Joanne had no kit items left on her. The Calsharans had stripped anything useful off of her, which had included what little gauze she had been carrying.

"There might be something around here," she suggested. "It's a luxury Goa'uld living area, after all." She made her way over to some of the cabinets at the walls, pulling them open and sticking her nose in as she surveyed the various odds and ends inside. Some small devices of unknown use, as well as a few changes of clothes, in this case the kind of lavish outfits that Goa'uld styling themselves after ancient Egyptian gods favoured. There was a set of plain white rags tucked away in a corner, and she picked up one of these before going over to Valkas.

"Bandage?" She handed him the rag. Valkas took it and nodded his head.

"Any water?" He asked her. Joanne did have some, courtesy of the supplies on the ship. In this case, the water was in a small bronze-coloured bottle, and she picked it up off of the nearby table and handed it to him. Valkas popped off the cap and poured some onto the wound, gritting his teeth as the water set off another wave of pain. He then reached over for his removed top and ripped a long strip from the waist of it. With that done, he placed the rag over the wound and tied the strip around his stomach and over the rag, thereby holding it firmly in place where it could serve to soak up whatever blood oozed out and keep it covered.

"Thank you." Valkas sounded genuinely grateful. He then proceeded to gulp down some of the water from the bottle, before handing it back to Joanne. He noticed the way she was watching him, and he narrowed his eyes slightly, his mouth showing the beginning of a smirk.

"What's the matter?" He asked her.

"Can't say I've seen a topless alien before," Joanne remarked.

Valkas let out a laugh, although in his case it sounded more like a simple huff.

"I'm glad you can keep up your good spirits," he said. "After what happened today…"

"You had to go against your own people. That must have been tough."

"I was always a rebel, Joanne." Valkas eased onto the mattress, the same sort of weariness Joanne felt no doubt affecting him as well. "This is just the logical conclusion to it. And it was either them, or us. And my own people were not about to welcome me back with open arms. I came to terms with the fact that I could never go home again some time ago. If that means joining with your people, and aiding your fight, then so be it. I'd get more out of helping you, then staying with my own. Especially since they would probably execute me for treason, or at the very least throw me in prison for the rest of my days."

"That all seems pretty extreme."

"My people are an extreme bunch. You have to understand, we have pursued an isolationist policy for centuries. We were almost wiped out in a war with an enemy that some of us believe will return. We've been content for so long that we cannot bring ourselves to trust any outsider, no matter their intentions."

Joanne had heard mention of this by the other alien, Aithris. Daniel seemed to believe him, even if Joanne was far more sceptical.

"What kind of enemy?"

"I don't know." Valkas shook his head. "I heard stories, legends really. A scourge from far beyond the reaches of our galaxy, so they say. And the Calsharan people were on the frontlines when it first made its presence known."

"That's what Aithris said…"

"And there may be some truth to his words, I cannot be certain." Valkas shrugged. "Maybe they will return. But at the moment, we have far more pressing matters."

"So, you're okay?" Joanne moved to the bed and sat down next to him. She needed to lie down as well, if the aches and pains she felt all over were anything to go by. "You don't want someone to talk to?"

"I'm okay." Valkas turned his head to her, eyeing her curiously. "Why?"

"Because we just killed a bunch of your people."

"To save ourselves. To work towards a much more important goal." Valkas spoke bluntly, and Joanne could see that he meant what he said. It surprised her, but she had often found Valkas to be hard to work out anyway. Looking at him, he was doing his best to remain stoic, even if there was some hint that maybe, deep down, he did not feel so good.

"I've only known you and the others for a short time, but I feel more of a connection there than I do with my own people. That is the truth, Joanne. Even if it began somewhat selfishly, on my part."

"Selfishly?"

"I only told your people what they wanted to know because it granted me better living conditions," Valkas replied. "I never expected you would drag me off-world. I was content to live in my room and watch television."

"And now?"

"Now we have a planet to save." He smiled at her, his eyes lighting up appropriately. "That's more than I was doing for my own world."

There was a pause then, with Joanne's eyes meeting with his own. She found herself at a loss for words, and she was not entirely sure why. The way he was watching her, the look in those piercing yellow eyes of his…She felt a chill then, and she realised then that her fingers were clutching at the bedsheets to either side of her tightly. It was not a feeling she had had for some time, and she was surprised at the fact that an alien, of all things, was making her feel this way. Valkas must have picked up on it, as he reached out one hand and put it against her own. A gentle gesture, yet the affection there was clear.

Joanne was tired, dirty and generally frustrated with how things had gone. Maybe it was this state of mind that made her more vulnerable here, as strange as it felt. She could not deny that something had sprung up between the two of them, as sudden as it seemed. Then again, fighting in a battle and having a near brush with death was often enough to make people act a little more rashly than usual. That must have been what this was, a result of all that pent-up stress and emotion. Little more than a physical reaction, than anything with genuine feeling behind it. She knew better, of course. At least, she thought she did. Such feelings had no place on a mission, least of all between team members. Not that this thought did much to dissuade her from what was driving her closer to Valkas, and before she knew it, she was leaning towards him.

The door slid open at that moment, and Colonel Sheppard appeared in the doorway. Joanne froze, mere inches from putting her mouth to Valkas' own. The Calsharan turned his head to the Colonel, offering him a friendly smile. Joanne felt a flush of embarrassment and promptly followed his gaze. John frowned at the pair of them, and Joanne shot to her feet.

"Sir?"

"I didn't interrupt anything, did I?" John asked. He already knew the answer to the question, and it seemed he was simply voicing it to further Joanne's embarrassment. She should be embarrassed, and it was a moment of weakness she did not wish to repeat. However, something told her that John Sheppard was not the kind of officer to reprimand her for it, certainly not in their current situation.

"No, Colonel." She stood up straight, despite her aching muscles, doing what she could to appear ready and able.

"Good." John eyed Valkas then, who was still seated on the edge of the bed, shirt off. "Valkas, put your top back on."

"Of course, Colonel." Valkas looked positively smug as he picked up the discarded and dirty top. "Has something come up?"

"Change of plans," John said. "We're going to where the Field Marshall's supposed to be. If we can get there before he leaves, then we can put a stop to him before he makes a move on Earth."

"How long until we get there?"

"About six hours."

Joanne relaxed somewhat, now that the Colonel was not looking at her as if she was a misbehaving daughter caught at a bad time. She felt that he had done that more for his own amusement, than anything else.

"We could run into hundreds of his soldiers," Joanne stated. John turned to her again, and he nodded his head. He had clearly thought about the possibilities, and so far he appeared confident.

"We have a bomber," John said. "They don't. If we catch them by surprise, we can use the payload on board to obliterate them."

"And if we're too late?"

The look on the Colonel's face spoke volumes. Being too late was not an option.


	33. The Lion's Den

**Part Three**

**On the Homefront**

_We will slip behind the lines,  
And we will take the men who have stolen our land,  
For the years of domination,  
Hit them right between the eyes,  
And light a fire!  
Light a fire, light a fire,  
They will see through the world!_

-From the song 'Light a Fire', by Chris de Burgh

* * *

**The Lion's Den  
**April 2nd, 2022

So far, General Janssen's attempts to locate the missing team had failed. The stargate at Ra's fortress had presumably been destroyed. Major Gordon Wade, commander of the USS _Midway_, had so far arrived in the sector of space where the planet was located and found no evidence that Sheppard and his team were still alive. In fact, according to scans, Ra's last and most remote fortress had been reduced to a blackened crater. This did not spell good news for the team, and Janssen was seriously beginning to consider them lost. Maybe not KIA, he refused to believe that a man of Sheppard's calibre would have had himself and his team killed like this; MIA, on the other hand, was more suitable.

Janssen was seated in his office, the time according to the digital clock on the wall being close to eleven o'clock in the morning. He had found himself considering how he would inform the loved ones of those missing people that their husbands, brothers, sons, daughters and so forth would never return. Colonel Bastion had been married, and the thought of confronting the man's wife and telling her the bad news made Janssen sick to the stomach. It was one aspect of the job that never got any easier. Sure, he could pass off the task to some unfortunate subordinate, but Janssen was not that kind of leader. He sent letters to the families of all those lost under his command, and it was something he had not needed to do for nearly three years. Now, as if fate was performing some morbid balancing act, he found himself faced with the prospect of writing more than a dozen of these miserable letters. That included one to the father of Joanne Bowers, a close and personal friend of Janssen's, who had put his daughter forward for the mission. That was one man he dreaded informing of the bad news, yet it was something he knew he had to do. Just a little more time, Janssen felt, just give Sheppard a few more days and maybe, just maybe, he would pull through with his team. Maybe.

It was a lot of faith to be had in an officer who Janssen did not personally know, nor had never worked with in the past. Sure, Sheppard was renowned for his actions on the Atlantis expedition, but that had been years ago. The man himself had changed, as anyone would over more than ten years. He was not as young as he was, and perhaps he had been out of the game too long. It was one of those subjects that Janssen was split upon, and he could not firmly lean either way. He wanted to believe that the team was still out there somewhere, alive and well, yet the ruins that had been found where Ra's fortress had been located spoke otherwise.

There was a knock upon the door, or at least on the door jamb itself. The door was open anyway, and Janssen looked up to see Jack O'Neill standing at the threshold. The man was dressed in a plain green BDU, lacking any rank insignia, and he regarded the General with a friendly expression.

"Still no news?" He asked Janssen.

"Aside from the fact that the fortress on that planet was obliterated?" Janssen shook his head. "I'm beginning to think that the team is gone. I mean, I _don't_ want to think that, but with the way things are going…"

"You can't be sure of that." Jack stepped into the office. "Colonel Sheppard has pulled through worse."

"Maybe. But that was when we knew more about what was going on. As it stands now, we know next to nothing as to what actually went down at that fortress. All we know is that they were attacked by a hostile alien race, and something tells me it wasn't the Goa'uld who did it."

"Yeah, that is worrying, isn't it?" Jack paused for a moment, unsure of what else to add. What could he say, really, without it sounding like hollow reassurance? They were both well aware of the reality of the situation, and that reality was the team was more than likely gone for good.

"I'm sorry about your friend," Janssen said. "Daniel Jackson. I know—"

"Don't write him off yet, Floyd. And don't write off Sheppard and the others. Anything could have happened between when they called in, and now. If the stargate wasn't open to them, they would have found another way off of that planet. You can bet your bottom dollar on that one."

"And this hostile alien race?" Janssen had been thinking about this particular topic a fair bit in recent days. "Who could they be, if they weren't the Goa'uld?"

Jack shook his head. They had nothing to go on, really. At the moment, it was all just supposition on their part. Not the good kind, either. Most possibilities that came to Janssen's mind were downbeat, and that was probably a result of his overall realist nature.

"You seen McClintock?" Janssen asked him.

"Not lately. After what happened with that Holt guy, I think he's decided to steer clear of both of us." Jack gave a light shrug. "Which suits me just fine."

"What about you? Are you planning on staying?" Janssen was grateful for the old General's assistance, but he knew that Jack would have been better off staying out of it. The man had been enjoying retirement, after all. He did not need to be here.

"Me?" Jack nodded eagerly. "Until Sheppard and his team are back here, I'll stay. And I'll help out any way I can." There was to be no arguing the matter, then. Floyd knew better than to try and convince Jack otherwise, even if he felt a little guilty having the man around when he really should be at home enjoying the rest of his life.

Jack looked as if he was about to say something more, but he was stopped by a familiar alarm that broke through the relative quiet of the office, resounding throughout the entire facility. The voice of the gate-room technician currently on duty filtered through the PA system, speaking succinctly: _"Unscheduled off-world activation!"_

Immediately, Janssen was on his feet. Jack was out of the office at the same time, and the pair of them hurried their way through the conference room and down the set of stairs at the far end. This took them into the control room, and here the few technicians on duty worked their terminals as the gate-room became a flurry of activity. A handful of Marines rushed inside, taking position around the gangway ramp that ran up to the stargate itself. Janssen stood to the right of the chief technician, watching the embarkation room through the windows in front of them. Chevrons lit up rapidly, and before the last one became live, the metal 'iris' swept into the empty space within the ring, each of the separate sections closing against one another to form the impenetrable shield that served to protect Earth from any threats that may be coming through the stargate.

"We have no teams off-world," Janssen said. "Aside from Sheppard's." He glanced at Jack, who was standing off to his right, watching the stargate closely. As soon as the last chevron locked, the wormhole came to life, blue light spilling out the back of the gate as it was met with the iris shield. A moment later, all fell quiet, with only the faint, almost running-water type sound of the wormhole filling the room.

"Anything?" He turned to the chief technician. The young man, eyeing the monitor in front of him, shook his head. No codes had come through, nor any radio signals of any kind. The wormhole remained still, the iris closed. Jack peered at the screen himself, before he exchanged looks with Janssen.

"Something's fishy," he remarked.

Janssen reached over for the switch at the PA microphone on the panel before him, his voice filtering down into the embarkation room loud and clear.

"Gate-room teams, stand-by." He eyed the active stargate, and the seeming lack of activity aside from the wormhole itself. Whoever had dialled in was not playing their hand and seemed content to leave them waiting.

"Hold on, sir." The chief technician's attention was diverted to one of the other displays. "We have incoming travellers."

"Well, they're about to be in for a nasty surprise." Janssen was fully aware of what happened to anyone who hit the iris, and it was not a pleasant thought. Granted, it was a painless way to go, but as it was so eloquently put by the personnel around here, 'bug on a windshield' hardly seemed like a dignified way to die.

Janssen mentally prepared himself for the loud _clang_ as whoever was coming on through splattered against the iris. However, his eyes were drawn to the iris itself, and the bizarre way in which the whole thing appeared to _wobble_. Jack saw it too, in fact just about everyone in the room and the embarkation room below saw the same thing. A swirl of white energy seemed to envelop the iris, and the whole thing wobbled as if it had been reduced to the integrity of jelly. The image was brief, over in a few seconds, but the impression had been made. Janssen immediately stood up straight, his mind quickly sorting through the possible explanations in the seconds it took for the first of the incoming travellers to appear. He saw Jack in his peripheral vision, and a flash of recognition on his face as if he was reminded of something he had encountered before.

There was no time for any further thought on the matter. Stepping through the solid matter of the iris, moving in a wedge formation, appeared five figures of definitely alien origin. Tall, bipedal, and comprised of a deep red, and in some case, near purple exoskeleton, the new arrivals stopped partway down the ramp. They were armed, their alien rifles held at the ready. Instead of eyes, they bore long black slits; their mouths were small, almost vertical in shape, flanked by a small mandible at each side. It was hard to determine where the alien ended and the exoskeleton began, as if the biomechanical outfits they wore were very much a part of them. They did not move, after their initial arrival, and instead seemed to eye up the Marines in the gate-room and those watching from the control room above.

Now Janssen saw more than just a flash of recognition on Jack's face. It was more the look of a man hit with a sudden and awful realisation, that whatever complacent, good mood he had been in had just been swiped from him with no tact whatsoever.

"Holy shit," he said aloud, and Janssen knew exactly what he meant.

The Marines did not hesitate. Opening fire, their rifles thundered rapidly, the gunshots loud within the confines of the underground facility. Sparks flew, bullets pounded into metal, some richocheting off of the iris itself. And yet, the hail of bullets appeared to do nothing to the aliens standing on the walkway. Instead, it was as if the shots simply _passed_ through them, hitting the iris at their rear and doing little else.

"I need reinforcements to the gate-room," Janssen announced, his voice blasting through the facility's PA system. He kept it level, despite the growing knot in his gut, the one that told him that everything was about to fall apart before him. He heard footsteps behind him, followed by a familiar voice.

"What the hell is going on?" McClintock. The man had finally decided to show himself. He stopped nearby, his attention diverted to the chaos of the embarkation room.

More Marines and airmen began to file into the room below. The first bunch of Marines had ceased fire, their magazines empty. Quickly, they began to reload. The five aliens standing before them seemed to take this as their signal, and each one tapped at a device they had on at their left forearms. With each activation, the aliens seemed to shimmer, in much the same way the iris had before they had passed through it. And then, as soon as this was done, they returned fire. White hot bolts of energy lanced from their weapons, and they swept this weapons fire across the Marines ahead of them. Janssen watched as two of them were cut down straight away, with the others opening fire once more. This time around, the aliens did get hit, and one of them twitched and spun as bullets tore into it. Dark purple blood spurted out of the alien as he fell, his rifle clattering onto the walkway.

More of them began to charge through the iris. Each time they did, the metal shield wobbled, as if its very physical integrity had been impaired. The first group took the brunt of the Marines' fire, and Janssen saw right away that this was what they intended. The ones coming out of the iris now were scattering, running for the walls and the doors, bullets passing through them as if they were not even there.

"I need reinforcements to the gate-room!" Janssen barked into the PA system again, as another pair of Marines were cutdown by the first group. He watched as one of the aliens pulled a cylindrical device from its waist, comprised of the same reddish-material that its exoskeleton appeared to be made out of. This alien threw it into the middle of the group of defenders in the gate-room, and before any of them could react, the device detonated in a white flash that filled the entire embarkation room with a brilliant, searing light.

The force of the explosion shattered the windows in front of Janssen and Jack. Both men, and the technicians with them, were knocked backwards as hundreds of shards of glass hit them front-on, cutting into exposed skin. The chief technician was launched from his chair, his face shredded by the shower of shards and the high velocity that they had been propelled to. Janssen hit the floor with a few stinging cuts about his face, his ears ringing and smoke pouring in from the gate-room. Alarms sounded all around him, and he was dimly aware of the activity of the others in the room as the world seemed to spin around him.

Suddenly, a strong set of hands grabbed him by the arm. He moved with them, finding himself face-to-face with Jack O'Neill as he pulled the General to his feet. The older man had a few cuts on his forehead and cheeks, one of which bled profusely, sending a narrow trail of blood down his right temple. Nearby, the chief technician lay dead, while McClintock had, conveniently, disappeared. Probably had run off to hide in a closet somewhere, which would not be a surprise to either Janssen or Jack.

"We've got to lockdown the base!" Jack shouted. Janssen stumbled over to the shattered windows, his eyes falling upon the utter mess that had been made below. A large scorch mark had been left on the concrete floor, and several of the Marines and airmen who had been below had been reduced to charred, smoldering corpses. So had a few of the aliens, judging from the barely recognizable corpses below. As for the other aliens, more of them were pouring in through the gate. Janssen's hands went for the controls, which were still mostly intact, and he reached out a hand for the lockdown controls. It would be no good, of course; he could already see a few of them running headlong into the walls of the gate-room, passing through them as if they were not even there. Nonetheless, he hit the button, and straight away the bulkheads leading into the gate-room began to slide shut. An alarm would be sounding on the upper levels of the complex, and the personnel up there would be doing all they could to lockout the base from the outside world.

The wormhole was still active. More of the aliens were rushing in, dozens of them. Jack went for the manual shutdown, a thick red lever on the wall nearby reserved for emergency use. This would cut the power to the gate on their end, but it would not change the fact that the stargate was drawing much of its power from the one on the other end of the wormhole. Pulling the lever only served to dull the lights, although it had been worth a try.

"That wasn't going to work," Janssen managed, his ears still ringing. Jack turned to him and gave him a shrug.

"Can't blame a girl for trying."

Footsteps could be heard clanging upon the metal of the stairs behind them. Both men turned to them, watching as one of the aliens came running into view. Janssen was unarmed, as was Jack. However, the latter reacted first to this new threat, and without thinking too hard about it he lunged for the alien intruder. Tackling him hard, Jack sent himself and the alien tumbling back down the stairs. Janssen went to move after them, unwilling to leave Jack to fend for himself. However, another one of the aliens appeared at the other side of the room. In a flash, he had deactivated his phase-shifter, making himself solid again. As soon as this was done, he opened fire in Janssen's direction, with the General racing for the rear exit of the control room as energy bolts slammed into the wall behind him. Sparks flew and explosions of dust followed each impact, as the concrete wall was hit by the volley of energy weapons fire.

Janssen could only wonder just how many of these intruders were pouring out of the stargate now, and no amount of lockdown was going to stop them. If they could pass through solid matter, then there was really very little that could be done. Nonetheless, for them to interact with physical matter, they had to deactivate whatever allowed them to shift through solid matter to begin with. So, they were not invincible. That was a start. Not that Janssen had much of a chance of thinking this over, as he found himself being chased down by a hail of energy bolts, as he barged through the rear exit of the control room and found himself in the corridor running behind it.

As he emerged, two airmen came running by, armed with MPX submachine guns. Both stopped a short distance past Janssen, as two of the aliens emerged from around the corner up ahead. Energy bolts flew by, and one of the airman was struck in the chest, falling backwards with smoke pouring off of the hole that had been blasted into him. The other airman let fly with a controlled volley, peppering one of the aliens with bullets, purple blood spurting forth. Janssen dived for the floor as a few of the energy bolts slammed into the wall near him, and his hands scrambled for the fallen airman's submachine gun. The second airman was hit by a pair of the bolts from the other alien, and as he fell, Janssen pulled the trigger on his own weapon from where he lay on his side. The alien twitched and fell, and as it went down, Janssen rose to his feet and started down the corridor.

By now, red lights were flashing all throughout the facility and armed soldiers were pouring in from the upper levels.

It had been a while since Janssen had needed to pull the trigger on anyone, and oddly enough he felt even less doing it to these aliens than he might have had they been human beings. He supposed that was one small bonus to the whole situation, that he was practically guilt-free gunning these bastards down. Was this an invasion? It hardly seemed practical, to come pouring out of that stargate. An invasion would happen on multiple fronts, unless this was part of something bigger. Janssen's mind rapidly worked through the possibilities, none of which were particularly positive, as he raced down the corridors of the increasingly chaotic interior of Stargate Command. He could hear gunfire echoing down the corridors, along with the shouts of soldiers and airmen as they engaged the enemy. Explosions resounded throughout the complex, and he stopped suddenly as the wall further down the hallway appeared to shimmer. Three of the aliens came pouring out of the wall, before crossing the corridor and disappearing into the wall on the other side. None of them appeared to notice him, and they were gone in a near-literal flash.

They were going to get to the surface. No thick bulkhead doors were going to stop these freaks. They could easily find their way into any number of emergency access tunnels, and it would be a simple matter of putting themselves back in phase before taking the ladders straight up. They were going to climb up into the outside world, and Janssen knew the trouble that even a small bunch of hostile aliens might do to the world above. He had been through the scenarios, read the highly-detailed and thoroughly-researched reports of what an alien incursion, starting at Stargate Command, could mean for the rest of the world. All hell was about to break loose, and Janssen could do little to stop it.

* * *

Jack O'Neill was not entirely sure what he had been thinking, when he had tackled that alien down the stairs. Sure, he had been acting on impulse, or instinct more like, in order to keep it from gunning down Floyd Janssen. However, he had not expected the side-effect of tackling an alien fitted with a phase-shifter, and so he almost lost his lunch when he felt the device activate once he, and his alien opponent, came tumbling down to the base of the stairs themselves.

There was a flash, as he retained his grip on the alien, the pair grappling their way through the room underneath the control room. Computers and other similar pieces of equipment were placed about this room, lights flashing and monitors beeping. He had pushed the alien against the nearest wall, hands on the weapon it held, fighting with it for control of the energy rifle. Its mandibles clicked, as if agitated, and he heard some kind of guttural snarl escape its unusually-shaped mouth. Jack felt one knee ache, a result of the tumble down the stairs. He knew that he was simply getting too old for this kind of thing, although he was hardly in a position to allow an old knee to blow out.

Pushing the alien against the wall with all his strength, his hand found its way upon the very familiar device it wore on its left forearm. He had seen them before, years ago, and seeing them again on this species in particular told him more than it told most others here. He had been present when this species had infiltrated the SGC, and he had dealt with the Tollans on more than one occasion. Apparently, that hyper-advanced human civilisation had not been completely destroyed. Of course, the question now was why their technology was in the hands of these hostile aliens?

There was a shimmer that crossed both of them as they fought for control of the rifle. Jack kept his hands upon the alien, and suddenly they both went falling through the wall. It was a somewhat disorienting sensation, made all the more so that his vision filled with nothing but the inside of the heavy concrete wall as they both fell through it. And then they were out in a corridor, where several airmen lay dead, bodies still smoldering from the energy weapons that had taken them down.

Their brawl continued, as Jack reared back one hand and punched the alien across its jaw, causing its head to snap back. And then they were both thumbling through the next wall, passing through concrete and rock as if it were not even there. The tingling sensation that enveloped Jack's body was more intense than the one he got when stepping through the stargate, but it lasted far less, being over in the second or two it took them to fall into the next room. A storage room, packed to the brim with wooden and metal boxes, some of them stuffed with old, vintage technology that went back as far as the 1950s. Sure, it was obsolete, but the military kept it around in the eventuality that one day it might be all they had left to use. An old radio was better than none at all.

They continued to grapple, with Jack making sure to keep physical contact upon the alien at all costs. If he let go, then the effects of the phase-shifter would no longer carry over to him. Pushing the alien up against the wall again, he dipped its head back into the wall itself, watching as the concrete seemed to bend around the intrusion. However, the alien pushed back, causing Jack to stumble a few steps into the dimly lit room. He kept one hand clutched around the alien's left arm, and with the other he pulled at the rifle it still held. Finally, the weapon was freed from its grasp, immediately regaining phase with the rest of the world around them. It clattered upon the floor, landing somewhat out of reach of the both of them.

Jack reared back a fist and punched the alien in the gut. Hard exoskeleton met his knuckles, and the blow was significantly less effective than he had hoped, not to mention it sent pain shooting up from his hand. The alien put out one of its own hands and grabbed his neck, practically snarling as it tightened its grasp around him. Jack kept his hand around its left forearm, as he knew what would happen if he let go. He kicked it in the stomach as he felt the pressure around his windpipe increase, his breath struggling to break through the tightening chokehold. The alien took a few steps back from this latest blow, putting it partially into the wall. The grip it had around his throat loosened slightly, but it was enough for Jack. Punching the alien again, he made it take a further step backwards, putting much of it inside the wall behind.

Jack's hand went for the device at the alien's forearm, finding the small cluster of buttons that controlled the device. He pressed what he thought to be the off switch, with the alien still partially within the wall. The device did shut off, as he had hoped, and right away the alien before him seemed to freeze in place. Not only that, but it appeared to meld into the solid wall, with its head, one arm and part of its legs and torso still protruding from the concrete surface. Jack let go of it then, scrunching up his face at the creature, trapped as it was, some of its flesh having visibly blended into the concrete. Nonetheless, the alien still lived, twitching mainly, although its black eye slit had settled firmly upon Jack. He could not read its expression, but something told him that it was mad. That, or the pain of its current predicament was causing the piercing gaze it directed his way.

Jack reached over and pulled the Tollan device from its left forearm. The alien still jerked as muscles (or what was left of them) spasmed in response to the sudden lack of, well, most of its body.

"Where did you guys get these?" Jack asked it, holding the device up to the dim lighting of the store room. The alien did not reply, if anything it was in no shape to do so. Instead, what escaped from its throat was a low, drawn out groan, before finally the twitching stopped and its head slumped downwards. The creature was dead, killed because a good half of its body had fused with a concrete wall. Jack reminded himself to not use the Tollan phase-shifter unless he had good reason to do so, as he did not fancy getting fused with solid matter.

He picked up the alien's rifle, which was surprisingly lightweight given its size. With that in hand, and the phase-shifter stuffed into one pocket, he made his way from the storeroom and down the corridor. There were dead airmen here, a good half dozen, along with a few dead aliens for good measure. Elsewhere, he could hear gunfire echoing from somewhere above, and Jack picked up his pace despite the growing pain in his right knee. Coming to a stairwell, he stepped through the door at the base and looked up. Now he could hear the noise more clearly, the sound of multiple weapons firing, the shouts of airmen and Marines engaging the invading enemy. And that was just the ones who had elected to push further into the complex. What about the aliens who had simply kept their phase-shifters on before making their way for the exit? How many were walking out of the mountain right now, unable to be stopped even by solid bulkhead doors?

It was a nightmare in the making. In a way, it already _was_ a nightmare. Jack considered his options. Most of the intruders were going up, towards the exits. Further into the facility, where ideally they would be halted by the lockdown and the Marines and other guards who would be pouring in to combat the threat. Instead, they were dealing with a threat that could pass through solid matter. Everyone would be focused on those working their way up to the top of the mountain, and not…

Jack turned around. The gate-room. It was unsecured. The stargate had been active for over ten minutes now, more than enough time for all manner of mischief to take place in the embarkation area. No one else appeared to be present, so Jack figured that if someone was going to stick their head into the gate-room to make sure all was well, he would be the one to do it.

He hurried down the corridor, weapon at the ready. Rounding a corner, he started towards the gate-room, coming upon the now wide-open bulkhead. Soft blue light filtered through it, and he could hear the faint gurgling of the active wormhole. Not only that, but he could hear footsteps, multiple sets of them, along with guttural croaks and snarls. It was as if there were a bunch of frogs inside having a conversation.

Slowly, he paused by the doorway and peered around it. There were three of the aliens inside, standing on the ramp leading into the stargate itself. The iris was still closed, not that this had done much to stop these intruders. Charred bodies were scattered from the base of the ramp, among the large scorch mark left by the alien explosive device. There was something large and round in the middle of the three aliens, comprised of the same reddish-organic material the rifle Jack now held was made out of. Two stood watch from the ramp, whilst the third manipulated the controls of the large oval-shaped device. Jack knew a bomb when he saw one, no matter what species had manufactured it.

There might have been more in the nearby corridors, or more ready to come charging through the stargate. Regardless, Jack was the only one here right now in any position to stop this bomb. Leaning around the doorway, he took aim with the alien rifle, before pulling the trigger (or, in the case of this weapon, it was more of a pressure pad). The shot hit one of the aliens dead centre of mass, and it went falling over the railway to one side of the ramp. The other one immediately brought up its rifle, but Jack gunned it down before it had a chance to react. Stepping into the doorway, weapon raised, he took aim at the third and final alien intruder. This one had not pulled its gun, instead, it focused its attention upon the bomb instead. Apparently, it was far more eager to get the device set, and Jack blasted it before its hands could find the controls again. The top of the alien's head was blown away in a flash of fire and smoke, and the promptly deceased alien fell to one side, purple blood pouring from what remained of its head.

Jack paused by the ramp, eyeing the stargate. He took aim towards it, expecting more of the intruders to pour through. None did, and instead, the gate shutdown then and there. The blue light flickering upon the back wall vanished, and all went quiet within the gate-room. Jack walked over to where the alien bomb was placed, and he glanced at the controls, curious as to whether it was armed or not. He could see no lights blinking on it, so he could only assume that he had got here in the nick of time. If anything, he preferred to be safe than sorry, and as such would make sure to toss the thing through the stargate to some remote rock of a planet as soon as he could.

The only problem now were the aliens elsewhere in the facility. Worse yet, the ones who were getting out of the mountain. Something told him that the day was about to get a whole lot worse.


	34. Rendezvous

**Rendezvous  
**April 2nd, 2022

It was evening, and the heat of the desert was beginning to wane. There was nary a cloud in the sky, baring the purple-blue of the twilight in its entirety. Rocky, wide-open and with only sparse vegetation, the Nevada desert still managed to draw a certain niche of people to a particular set of ridges and the like right on the border of where a series of innocuous orange markers were planted. Little more than metal and wooden stakes with orange ribbons tied to them, the markers were the first indication that one was approaching a highly restricted area. Those who ventured beyond them inevitably fell under surveillance, from the numerous hidden cameras, motion sensors and not to mention the patrolling armed guards in their heavy-duty Humvees.

A good distance before those markers began, a small campsite had been erected in the shadow of a stout hill. For the past few days, a middle-aged man and a few younger friends of his had been camping out in the hope of spotting the much-rumoured aircraft that flew in and out of the Groom Lake airbase, otherwise known as Area 51. Also known as 'Dreamland', to some. Rumours abound of the facility, and the middle-aged man with his group were just one of many to come by in the hopes of spotting prototype military aircraft, or even something extra-terrestrial.

The camp was little more than a pair of tents and a fire between them. The middle-aged man, somewhat chubby and wielding a thick stubble, sat out in the sun on a fold-up chair with a set of binoculars hanging from his neck. Normally activity at the base did not begin proper until nightfall, or the dawn hours, so there was still some time to go. Eyeing his watch, the man pulled a cigarette from one pocket, put it to his mouth and briefly considered throwing it aside. It was, after all, a bad habit and it was one liable to kill him. Voices behind him from the other three in his little disparate group of believers caught his attention, and he glanced back at the young couple seated outside one of the tents, and in turn the other young man currently tending to the fire as he cooked up some sausage on the portable stove. They were mostly out-of-town youngsters who had come out here looking for some excitement, and that usually translated to brushing with danger by camping near the perimeter of one of the most secure military compounds in the country. So far, they had been out here for three days and had seen nothing of any real interest. The older man was beginning to grow tired of it, and he reckoned that after today he would head home. If these young strays wanted to stay out here longer, they could.

The sound of an engine caught his ear then, along with the crunch of gravel under tires. The noise grew in volume quickly, and his eyes looked to the source of it, catching sight of the incoming car rolling in over the empty plains and uneven, rocky hills. He froze, fearing that it was the authorities that had found them, but the build of vehicle was unlike those he had glimpsed roaming around the perimeter markers of Area 51. This was a state trooper's car, marked with the recognizable symbol of the Nevada Highway Patrol. The older man felt a stab of anxiety in his gut as he saw the police vehicle, and he figured that they were all about to be asked to pack up and leave. At least it was certainly preferable to being detained by the infamously trigger-happy soldiers who patrolled the far perimeter of Area 51.

All heads turned to the incoming vehicle as it came to a halt by their little campsite, the windows tinted darkly such that the older man could not immediately see who was driving. He rose from his chair, going over mentally what he would say as he anticipated the state trooper's questions.

The engine shut off and the driver's side door opened, revealing a young woman in the uniform of a Nevada officer. She was of an average build, with light brown hair tied back into a ponytail. Her eyes were a similar brown in colour, and she looked young, perhaps younger than most cops the older man had seen. Attractive, certainly, but as he approached her, he thought that there was something else to her eyes, as if they were older than she was. They surveyed the group before her with a neutral expression, and the older man noted the pistol she wore at her waist.

"Good afternoon, ma'am." The older man stopped a few metres ahead of her, offering her a friendly smile. "We aren't in any trouble, are we?"

"That depends on your definition." The woman looked over to the other three, gathered around the fire. "Is this all of you?"

"Yes, it is." The older man retained his smile, despite his growing anxiety. "Why?"

"Just making sure." The woman's next movement was lightning fast, and it caught the older man off-guard. Her gun, fitted with a suppressor, was in her hand in the blink of an eye and she had shot him firmly in the chest. He was barely aware of this when it happened, the whole thing had occurred so quickly. It was when his next breath seemed to leave the wrong hole that he realised what had just happened to him, but before he could do anything further the police officer started shooting at the other three. She pumped round after round into the trio, all three crumpling onto the ground without so much as a shout.

As the older man's strength rapidly left him and blood poured out of the hole in his chest, he felt himself falling to the ground, only now dimly aware of the woman standing over him. She walked up to his now fallen body and fired twice more into his back, putting an end to him then and there.

* * *

Minutes later, Serina had pulled a small, disc-shaped device from one pocket on the uniform she had 'acquired' some days before. It had made getting around without arousing suspicion somewhat easier, as had the accompanying vehicle. She had had months to settle into her role here and getting a job in law enforcement had seemed the most prudent. With a bit of computer manipulation, using devices not of this world, she had cooked up a believable personnel file for herself. The civilian computers the humans of Earth used were laughably easy to manipulate, and what she had assumed would be a tricky task wraught with risk had instead proven surprisingly easy. As such, she had settled into her law enforcement role quite comfortably, and her 'superiors' had bought her fabricated record without question.

Now was the day she had been waiting for. With the red, semi-organic device in hand, she pressed a few of the strangely squishy buttons upon it, her eyes drifting skywards. Standing out in this heat was not entirely comfortable, and she would have preferred to be elsewhere. Thankfully, she did not have to wait for long, and soon enough she could hear the quiet whine of the transport descending. It was not the only one of its kind, yet at a glance there was nothing to be seen. The skies remained empty, yet the ground before her began to be buffeted by a strong wind as the cloaked transports began to land. Cloaked to not only the naked eye, but to sensors and radar as well, the three transports touched down by the campsite, their engines stirring up dust and sand. One of the tents was blown off of its moorings, sending it and the sleeping bags inside flying. The campfire was blown out, and a heavy layer of sand settled upon the bodies of the campers as the ships settled. Serina could see the imprints of their landing legs appear in the sand, barely noticeable to someone who was not aware they were present.

Suddenly, the lead craft materialised into existence, the cloak disengaging. Serina could only assume that these aliens had acquired the technology from their Tollan 'asset', as she certainly would not have given it to them. There was an arrangement here, but that did not mean she trusted these creatures entirely. They were, in a way, repugnant. She wanted to get this operation over with as soon as possible.

_They are a means to an end. _Strivak's presence always reassured her, even now. _Simply play along._

The transport was larger than a Goa'uld _teltak_, but smaller than one of their _alkesh_ bombers. It was made from the deep red semi-organic technology that these aliens seemed to favour, and it appeared to glisten in the light of the sun. The rear ramp fell open, and she immediately recognized the Field Marshall at the head of a group of five of his people. Tall, his biomechanical suit bearing gold trimlines as to indicate his rank, he approached her with a confident gait. He was followed by his second-in-command, whose biomechanical armour vest displayed silver trimlines. The Executor, Serina remembered. Where she felt that the Field Marshall was an extremist, fuelled by a personal vendetta, the Executor outright disgusted her. He had been a criminal amongst his own kind, thrown in prison for his brutal methods during war. Yet here he was, a loyal second to the Field Marshall, and Serina in a way felt some sympathy for the humans who were to face him. They would not enjoy the punishments that the Executor was fond of delivering to those who got in his way.

"Field Marshall." Serina stepped forwards, offering him a slight bow of the head as a sign of respect. It was somewhat false on her part, simply because she did not respect these creatures whatsoever. Even Strivak despised them, despite his firm belief in what they were doing. "I have vehicles hidden not far from here, as per the plan. They're inside an old mine shaft."

The Field Marshall regarded the bodies of the dead campers. It was impossible to judge what he was thinking, with only his mandibles offering any noticeable movement on his face. When he spoke, a synthesized male voice came through the translation device he wore at his neck, all while his alien vocal chords made a series of deep growls and grunts that were incomprehensible to Serina's human ears. Even Strivak had no idea of what to make of the language, so far removed from anything human or Goa'uld in origin.

"I am glad to see you have managed to fulfil your end of the plan," the Field Marshall said. He motioned to the alien soldiers gathering behind him. They began to file out of the transport. The rear ramps of the other two transports lowered as well, still cloaked as they were. More of the aliens began to file out, more than what Serina had been expecting.

"It must be irksome, having to mingle with these Tau'ri," the Field Marshall continued. Serina could see that all of the soldiers were armed, and some carted with them crates that were no doubt packed full of weapons and equipment. Each one also wore a small device at their chests, and Serina remembered mention of holographic infiltration technology when she had first been given this assignment.

"You get used to it," Serina replied. She did not add to this the fact that she had, in some ways, come to enjoy living here. She did not entirely like the people, and she would do what she needed to in order to carry out the mission. If that meant taking lives, then so be it. The planet, however, was beautiful in many ways.

It was the military she had the most issue with, along with others of her kind. That was why she was here, to help pave the way for some genuine change in that regard. To restore the balance of the galaxy, before the humans of Earth disrupted it further.

"Lead us to the vehicles," the Field Marshall said. "I will lead the infiltration team. My second-in-command will remain here with the others, until the way is clear. They will then deposit the transports at different locations, hiding them from the humans." He turned to his second, the Executor, and began speaking to him without the benefit of the translation device. Serina wanted to know what was being said, but without the synthesized voice cutting in, the conversation became lost to her. Part of her felt that something was being discussed she really should have known about, and she could feel right there that Strivak felt the same way.

_Be careful around these people_, he warned her. _They are even less trustworthy than the Tau'ri._

* * *

The vehicles in question were two heavy duty trucks, both of which Serina had 'liberated' from a military vehicle yard some weeks prior. They were hidden in an abandoned mine that was tucked away in a nearby valley, well out of immediate sight. Old, ramshackle wooden sheds were out the front, and a large metal gate had blocked the entrance. It had been easily forced open on Serina's part, revealing a fairly wide tunnel beyond that worked its way under the desert at a slight incline before coming to a wider chamber. Here, an elevator was present, connected to a decades-old generator that Serina figured was well past its prime. The two trucks were parked inside, large and dark green in colour, with plenty of cargo space in the back. The Field Marshall was joined by about a dozen of his soldiers, some of them carting with them containers that resembled closely the kind of materials the humans here might use to create their own boxes. None of them bore the semi-organic material she had come to expect from these aliens, further indicating the level of preparation that the Field Marshall had implemented. The more Serina saw of these aliens, the more she realised just how much of a threat they were, not just to the humans of Earth but to the galaxy as a whole.

"With the holographic devices, and the documentation I've forged, we will be able to go straight through their main gate." Serina walked up to one of the trucks and pulled open the driver's side door. The lighting within the chamber was adequate, provided by multiple sets of portable lights at each corner. On the driver's seat of the truck was a folder full of paperwork that Serina had spent weeks putting together, some of which she was not fully confident would work. However, with the paperwork and the holographic disguises these aliens would adopt, she was sure that it would be enough.

"You seem doubtful," the Field Marshall stated, as he walked up to her. He appeared to be eyeing her carefully, as if gauging her reaction. Serina felt a little uncomfortable under the scrutinising expression and did all she could to hide it. "We have other means if this more subtle approach does not work."

"What do you mean?"

The Field Marshall tilted his head slightly, as if curious as to her worried expression.

"I have in place certain contingencies. You will see what I mean, soon enough."

Serina felt an increasing sensation of dread in her gut that threatened to take hold over her entire being. Working with these creatures was a mistake, yet as she thought this she once again felt Strivak's reassuring presence in her mind.

_We will do what we must. Do not allow this Field Marshall to intimidate you. Remember, what we do here today will change everything. You should be honoured, to be part of such change._

"All right." Serina narrowed her eyes. "We'll do it your way, Field Marshall. But I don't like it."

* * *

The surface facility of Area 51 was set out like most airbases, albeit this one was larger than normal, comprised of multiple hangars and runways. At a glance, there was nothing especially unusual about it. Aside from hangars, an office complex, a barracks and several other, smaller subsidiary buildings, the base had nothing on the outside that might suggest even a little about its rumoured purposes and why it was so popular with conspiracy theorsts. Security was tight, and surveillance cameras and motion sensors dotted the grounds in abundance. A transmitter tower was near the centre of the airbase, serving as the seemingly remote airbase's main connection to the outside world.

Of course, one who was 'in the know' would be aware of the multitude of secret projects taking place within those hangars, and even in the underground tunnels and bunkers that had been in existence since the 1950s. The Groom Lake airbase was a nexus point for the United States military, and it was the transmitter in the centre that Serina knew the Field Marshall was most interested in. Given the size of the facility, she had no real idea how the Field Marshall intended on getting to his objective, even if they were able to get through the main gate. And that they did; Serina drove the truck straight up to the gate, and her nerves were relaxed given the assistance of Strivak, who calmed her through some biochemical interaction she did not understand.

It was evening, by the time the trucks neared the airbase. The gate ahead of them was large, with several armed guards standing near it. As they had approached, a Humvee had sidled up behind them, no doubt to 'escort' them to the front gate. Coming to a halt by the guardhouse, Serina wound down the window, eyes going to the guard who walked up alongside the vehicle. One of the others began to make his way for the rear. With surprisingly relaxed hands, Serina pulled out the documentation that was supposed to clear them for entry.

"Good morning ma'am," the airman said, as he peered at her and then into the driver's cab of the truck itself. "I'll need to see your security clearance." Behind him, another pair of guards stood attentive by the small guard booth. After them, the gate and the airbase as a whole.

"Of course, sir." Serina had hastily changed into a bland Air Force uniform before the drive here. She was relieved to see that it had so far passed scrutiny. She handed him the paperwork, and the guard took it with him back into the guard booth. She could see him through the window there, phone to his ear, as he called in the unexpected arrival. She knew there was a chance that they would be denied entry, and with that in mind she knew that the Field Marshall would likely resort to whatever alternate plan he had in mind.

Seated in the passenger seat next to her was an ordinary looking bald man of about thirty years of age, dressed in the uniform of one of the maintenance personnel here. At a glance, he appeared normal, and sat in his seat almost stiffly upright. However, if one were to offer him a prolonged glance, they might notice the look in his eyes, a flash of cruelty, even ruthlessness, that suggested that this apparently ordinary maintenance worker was not entirely 'normal'.

After a few minutes, the guard returned, handing her back the paperwork. He frowned, as if confused about something.

"I'm sorry, ma'am, but it looks like you're not on the scheduled list of arrivals today," the airman explained. "Nonetheless, the supervisor wants to speak to you. Take your car in, and follow the road to the left, before parking in the marked yellow zones. The supervisor's people will meet you there."  
Serina nodded her head. Behind her, one of the guards pulled back the tarpaulin, revealing the group of mostly plain looking men seated in the back of the truck. All outfitted as maintenance personnel, accompanied by boxes of equipment that the guard ran some sort of scanning device over. Most of the men back here watched the guard carefully, ready to act if anything went even slightly out of order. Nothing did, and the guard, apparently satisfied with what he had found, left the rear of the truck and went back to the guard booth. He gave the thumbs up to the airman standing by the driver's side window, who gave a nod and in turn signalled for the gate to be opened. Behind the truck, the patrol Humvee waited, and as Serina sidled the truck forwards it followed them into the airbase.

The place was crawling with guards. How did the Field Marshall expect to do what he intended, without bringing the entirety of the nation's military bearing down upon him? Serina knew that this was the point of no return for her, that if she pressed on then she was fully committed, no matter what happened. It was a risk simply being here, as the humans of Earth could easily take her presence as an act of war. Granted, they would have to find out her true nature for that, although she was sure that their scanners were more than capable of finding that out. All she could hope for was that the jamming devices supplied by the Field Marshall (and no doubt designed by their Tollan prisoner) would work as intended.

She followed the road as instructed by the guard, which brought them to a squat office building, mostly grey and beige in colour, as plain-looking as one could make it. She parked the truck in the marked yellow zone by the building's front entrance, with the Humvee behind them sidling up alongside their vehicle. A man in a grey uniform and flouro-yellow vest appeared from the entrance, accompanied by two guards. As for the patrol in the Humvee, they emerged from their vehicle, two armed soldiers who slowly approached the truck itself. Serina felt a tightening in her stomach, seeing these armed individuals moving in on them. As for her passenger, he promptly exited the vehicle. Those seated in the back did the same thing.

The man in the high-visibility vest approached them first, his face narrowed into a frown.

"If you don't mind, people, I would like the guards here to perform a thorough search." The supervisor came to a stop a few paces from the bald man who had been seated on the passenger's side. Behind him, his subordinates began to unload their boxes of equipment. They were in the shade of the building here, a brief respite from the heat of the Nevada sun.

Serina was the one to reply. She emerged from the truck quickly, stopping alongside the bald man.

"Do what you have to," she said. Over the entrance of the building, she saw a surveillance camera. The lens was focused on them directly, at least from what she could tell at this distance. However, courtesy of the hidden jammers they wore, the closer they went to the surveillance camera the more interference would become present.

The two soldiers behind them approached the main group, who had climbed out of the rear of the truck. They went for the boxes first, and instead of the simple scan, they went to open them up. Serina froze as she watched this, trying to gauge the reactions of the others. None of them appeared concerned, not even when their attempt at infiltration was about to blow up right then and there.

Something caught their attention, however, as it did Serina. The rumble of an explosion echoed across the base, and she felt the ground vibrate slightly under her feet. Right away, the guards stood straight and alert. Her eyes searched over the tops of the nearby buildings, and from somewhere towards the centre of the base, she could see a plume of rising grey smoke. Was this part of the plan?

The guards went running to their assigned posts, as an alarm sounded across the base. The supervisor appeared flustered then, and he regarded Serina and her band of maintenance personnel with a frown.

"Get inside," he ordered. He motioned for them to follow him, as he took them into the office complex. The maintenance men picked up their crates and went in as directed. The air-conditioned interior was well-lit and well-organized, with framed photos of important looking humans on the walls, as well as a number of potted plants here and there.

_It would appear the Field Marshall had a contingency in place._ Strivak's voice filled her head then, and Serina nodded, despite the fact that she was not nodding at anyone before her. The group were mustered into a meeting room of sorts, before the supervisor promptly left and closed the door behind him. He locked it, not that this would be difficult to rectify. Nonetheless, two armed guards moved into place on the other side of it, visible through the small window in the centre of the door itself. Again, a surveillance camera looked on them from the corner of the room. A crest, navy blue and circular, was up on the wall: bearing the words 'Department of the Air Force, United States of America'. An eagle and an adorned shield was in the middle of this, being the symbol of this particular branch of the nation's military.

Serina had to admit, she had found the way in which the Tau'ri organized their military to be most interesting. They had different branches for war on the ground, in the air and at sea, not to mention countless other organizations for overt and covert operations. Unlike the System Lords, who had their Jaffa, maybe a few Goa'uld assassins, but otherwise that was it. Maybe there was something to be learned from the Earth militaries in that regard, in terms of specialisation.

Another explosion rumbled from somewhere distant. Serina watched as the bald man walked over to the corner where the surveillance camera was located. At that proximity, the interference would be rendering the feed almost useless. Maybe it was this that gave the Field Marshall enough confidence to proceed with the next step of their plan, or maybe it had been his plan all along. Serina knew that he had not told her everything.

The bald man's visage appeared to shimmer, before it simply winked out of existence. In its place stood the Field Marshall, and the rest of the 'maintenance' personnel followed suit. Holographic disguises were deactivated, revealing the very alien appearances of the member of this little team. Serina immediately turned to the Field Marshall, whilst at the large table in the middle of the room, his subordinates began to open up the boxes, revealing the very alien weaponry within.

"What are those explosions?" Serina asked him. The Field Marshall turned to her, although his demeanour suggested that he was not very interested in answering her question.

"My suicide teams," the Field Marshall replied. "Two squads of four, who infiltrated the perimeter ahead of us. They used the phase-shifter devices to pass through the fences undetected, and they have been planting explosives at various points around the base to serve as a diversion." He looked around, apparently satisfied with what was going on. "Evidently, they have seen some success."

"You never told me that part of your plan."

"I told you the parts of my plan that you needed to know. You must understand my caution, Serina. Had I told you all of my plan, and you had in turn been compromised, then the humans would have thwarted it very easily. Compartmentalisation, Serina; you of all people should know the value of it. Not telling your allies the full extent of your plans is what you Tok'ra are known for, is it not?"  
Serina did not answer this question. She did feel Strivak stir, a flash of irritation from the symbiote that indicated he felt far more strongly on the matter. For now, it was irrelevant; they were here, in the base right now, and they only had a small window to achieve their ends.

"We will proceed to their central complex," the Field Marshall said. From one of the boxes was retrieved a pair of cylindrical tanks of a sort, each one about a foot long. Attached to the bundled pair was a small control panel. Was it a bomb? Serina thought as much, at least at first. However, it became apparent that there was something more to this 'bomb' than mere explosive potential.

"What else have you not told me?" Serina asked the alien commander. The Field Marshall regarded her with a look that, despite his alien features, she could only describe as 'dismissive'. He did not say anything further, and instead gestured to two of his subordinates to open the door. From inside one of the boxes were retrieved several seemingly innocuous pieces of tech, but at a closer inspection it was apparent they were simply parts of a larger whole: a stock, a receiver, a power cell. And in a series of quick, well-practiced movements, the two aliens had reassembled the energy rifles, blue-white light glowing along the barrels as they hit the power cells home.

One of them approached the door and fired a shot into the lock. Wood and molten metal went flying, with the door swinging partially open as the lock was destroyed. The alien kicked it right open, with the two guards in the corridor outside turning around to face the threat. Both of them were shot down, smoking holes blasted into them from the alien energy rifles. Serina was a little shocked, to say the least. Then again, she was no stranger to killing, and here and now, in the middle of the belly of the beast, shooting anyone who got in their way was probably the only real approach they had.

"We must move quickly," the Field Marshall said, as he exited the room, his subordinates following. They were all armed now, and a few of them carried more of the unusual bombs. "Before they can properly mobilise against us."

Serina followed, for lack of any other choice. She had her misgivings, even if Strivak was firmly set on the task at hand. She had always trusted his judgment, and she believed in what they were trying to achieve here. Yet, despite that, she was beginning to feel an uncertainty that had not been present before. As if she was descending into something she might never be able to climb out of.


	35. Staging Ground

**Staging Ground**

John stood by the bomber's viewport, watching as the swirling energies of hyperspace vanished. They were replaced by the black, star-speckled void of space, and ahead of them hanging low in the viewport window, was a large, green and blue sphere. A fairly unassuming planet, no doubt capable of supporting life, covered in swirls of white clouds. Daniel, seated at the pilot's position, eyed the display before him and nodded his head.

"That's it," he announced. "That's our destination." He sent the Goa'uld bomber zooming forwards, closing distance with the planet quickly. The interial dampeners made the flight almost entirely smooth, ensuring that the crew did not even feel the sensation of the planet's gravity well taking hold of the ship. Daniel settled the bomber into a stable orbit for now, with some careful adjustments of the controls.

"Scanners?" John inquired. To his right, Aithris sat quietly, and he worked a few controls on his end. Apparently, the alien 'Nomad' had some knowledge of Goa'uld ships, either that or Daniel had given him a quick crash-course on flying the thing. Which would be surprising, as Daniel himself was far from an expert pilot. John might have had a go himself, but when it came to anything Goa'uld, Daniel was somewhat more qualified than he was. Had it been an Ancient ship of any kind, John would have been all over it, no question.

"There are plenty of life-signs," Aithris stated. "Animal life, presumably. As for the stargate…" It made sense that where they were headed would not be far from the stargate. If Cassalis was not lying, and John certainly hoped she was not, then their enemies would likely be camped near the planet's stargate, using the place as a staging ground. John continued to hope that they were not too late, that they could bring an end to the Field Marshall's plans here and now. They were in a bomber, after all; what hope did the Field Marshall have, if they could simply swoop in and blow his plans to smithereens?

Behind him, both Valkas and Joanne appeared. John glanced at the Captain, and she offered him a curt nod in acknowledgement. John was not too concerned with what she and the Calsharan got up to, as long as it did not affect their performance. He was still a little undecided as to the Captain's abilities, but he did not exactly have a choice in the matter. As for Natalia, John continued to berate himself privately for leaving her behind. Dead or otherwise, he should have grabbed her. Instead, he had taken a gamble and grabbed Cassalis, which had certainly helped the mission, but it had not helped his conscience.

"We've got it." Daniel tapped at the display in front of him. "Setting a course now."

"Any alien life near it?"

Daniel eyed the display, and the map of the region it threw up before him.

"A handful of unidentified life-signs." He turned to John, eyes narrowed. "Nothing that would suggest a small army."

John swallowed. That could mean any number of things, but the worry was there, taking hold of him and threatening to turn into something much more disheartening. He knew what it most likely meant, but he was not about to jump to any conclusions. Not yet, not until he had seen things with his own eyes.

"There is a human life-sign, right in the middle of the others," Daniel said, sounding a little surprised.

"We'll check it out." John walked over to the nearby wall, where the Calsharan plasma rifles were leaning. He picked one up, and he was joined by Valkas and Joanne, who did the same. Daniel guided the ship into the planet's atmosphere, once again the inertial dampeners making what would have been a rough, shaky atmospheric entry into something that was no more turbulent than a leisurely drive on an asphalt road.

Minutes passed, and they dropped beneath the cloud cover before coming in low over a thick forest. The sky above was set in the orange tones of dusk, as the planet's day drew to a close in the region. Tall, rocky mountains lay off on the horizon, and a pair of silvery moons were visible in the sky above. John walked up to the viewport again, watching the displays as the ship neared their intended destination. A clearing, as expected, nestled in a forested valley. There was the stargate, positioned on a small stone platform with the dial-home device several metres ahead of it. And then there was a cluster of about a dozen, perhaps more, hexagonal structures built out of the now familiar reddish-purple material that the Field Marshall's people favoured.

"Land us behind the gate," John ordered. Daniel did as instructed, gently setting the bomber down a short distance behind the stargate. At a glimpse, there were no hostiles present. This, in itself, was a troubling sign. If the Field Marshall and his followers were not here, then there was only one other place they could be.

John started for the rear of the bomber, with John and Valkas following. Daniel and Aithris did the same, taking up what weapons were available. The rear ramp was already down and extended by the time they reached the rear of the ship, and the cool air filtered on into the hold as they approached. John took point, weapon held at the ready as he stepped out onto the gravel clearing. His eyes surveyed the stargate and the camp beyond it, but he sighted no gun-toting aliens. In fact, the whole place was eerily quiet, save for the rustle of the nearby bushes and trees as a gentle wind wafted through the valley. Night was falling; being an alien planet that could mean any number of things. John would prefer to be gone before the darkness really took hold, as the sun itself was already disappearing below the horizon. He did not want to stick around if it meant alien nasties would start crawling out of the treeline.

The group made their way into the camp, carefully. Each footstep brought with it the audible crunch of gravel, no matter how lightly they treaded. John felt as if they were going to be ambushed, with the Field Marshall and his soldiers pouring out of the prefab sructures and the trees, weapons raised in order to cut down the one prominent threat to his plans. They were the only ones who knew what he planned, and even then, that was probably a stretch. Aside from attacking Earth, they knew little of what the Field Marshall intended beyond that. Did he have something else in mind, beyond terrorist action?

They moved further into the camp. On the far left was a strangely empty space, with visible rectangular indentations left in the ground. A landing zone, John surmised, and the ships present were gone. If they were headed to Earth, surely they would be detected? Unless, of course, they had a way around that.

"Over there." Joanne spoke up then, standing off to his right. She pointed to what was no doubt the central structure, larger than the others, with a few smaller subsidiary 'tents' off to either side, connected by narrow corridors. "Looks important."

"That it does." John motioned for the others to follow and lead them towards the command structure's front entrance. The doors here slid open as he approached, revealing the large, open chamber beyond. There were organic-looking computers here and there, blinking lights and alien symbols, and a trio of the red, almost crustacean-looking aliens were present. They turned in what he took to be surprise at the intrusion, unarmed as they were, seated around a central table in what John assumed was their dinner break. Neither he, nor Joanne, nor Valkas hesitated on their next actions: weapons raised, the three of them opened fire as they strode inside, blue plasma bolts ripping into the startled trio of aliens, splattering purple blood and sending them slumping into their seats, lifeless. Smoke wafted up from their corpses, charred holes sizzling.

John looked to the left, signalling for Joanne to check their right side. The corridors on either side appeared clear, and Joanne signalled as much from her end. Behind them, Daniel and Aithris followed the group inside. As expected, Daniel went straight for the computers in the centre of the room, eyes surveying the alien controls and the unusual symbols upon them.

"You think you can learn anything here?" John asked him.

"Maybe." Daniel scratched at the stubble on his chin. Such was the result of not having the opportunity to shave for several days. "But it would take time, John. Time we probably don't have."

Joanne gestured to him then, nodding down the corridor at her side.

"I think I hear something," she declared. John walked up alongside her, and slowly Joanne began to work her way down the corridor. It took them to another door, one that opened as they neared, revealing a smaller workshop of some variety. There was less of the organic technology in here, and more of the expected metals and alloys that they were used to. Shelves were at either side, covered in various bits and pieces. In the middle of the room was a workbench, where several familiar devices were placed. Entering the room, John kept his rifle raised, his every sense on alert for anything out of the ordinary. So, when the human man emerged from the shadows of one corner, John had his rifle on him in an instant.

"Hold it right there." John peered at the man down the rifle's sights. He was tall, slim, and bedraggled. His hair was long and grey, unkempt even. Presumably, he had not had much of a chance to visit a barber for some time. The man was old, probably well into his sixties, perhaps even his seventies. He was dressed in a plain grey coverall, one that was wrinkled and creased, almost as unkempt as the man's hair. Not only that, but John was struck by the weariness evident in the old man's eyes, pale blue as they were, as if he had not slept for days.

The man held up his hands, showing that he was unarmed. John did not relax immediately. He did not know what to make of the one human found in the Field Marshall's camp, as it could have meant any number of things. Joanne stood near the doorway, eyes set on the stranger, keeping watch for any sudden movements.

"Who are you?" John asked him.

"My name is Faroc." The old man stopped by the workbench, and he slowly lowered his hands. "You don't need to point that thing at me. I won't attack you. If anything, it's good to finally see a human face after all this time."

John relaxed only a little. The old man raised one brow, curious.

"Where are you from?" He asked him.

"A place called Earth." The look the old man gave spoke volumes, and John frowned. "You know it, don't you?"

"The Field Marshall spoke of it on more than one occasion. He has a strong dislike of your people. So strong, in fact, he used me to grant him the technology necessary to attack your world. I suppose that is why you are here?"

This guy caught on fast. John figured he was dealing with what could only be described as the Field Marshall's chief asset. A scientist, from what he could tell, and certainly not one of Earthly origin.

"Yes, yes it is." John took a few steps towards him, all while Joanne kept an eye on him from the doorway. She stepped aside then, when Daniel appeared at the room's entrance. Maybe he had overheard the exchange, or he was simply curious as to what was going on in this room; either way would have drawn in Daniel Jackson.

"Who's this?" Daniel asked.

"Faroc." John was the one to say this, still unsure whether he should consider the man an enemy, or something else. "You're a scientist, aren't you?" He directed the question to the old man. He nodded his head slowly, as if regretful of the fact.

"Hold on, John." Daniel entered the room proper, moving up to the central workbench. His eyes roamed over the devices. They were in varying states of assembly and disassembly, and a look of recognition appeared upon his face. "These are Tollan. This is Tollan technology."

"That is correct." Faroc's voice was subdued, as if he was reluctant to admit this fact. "They are my doing."

"What do you mean?" John had lowered his rifle now, sensing no immediate threat from the old man. Nonetheless, his voice was hard, as he knew as well as the rest of the team that time was not on their side. The sooner they got answers, the better.

"The Field Marshall used my knowledge to grant his people what they need to attack your world." Faroc, to his credit, sounded incredibly regretful. This did not change the fact that he had helped them, as a very clear picture began to form in John's mind as to what had occurred here.

"You're Tollan?" Daniel's eyes widened somewhat, as if in awe. John, on the other hand, was not impressed. "But your people, they were wiped out. Anubis destroyed your home-world."

"He did. And many of my people did die." Faroc rubbed at his eyes with one hand, as if fighting away the weariness. "I was one of a few who were off-world at the time. Specifically, I was on a scientific expedition to another star system. When I learned of what had become of my home-world, I was forced to eke out a living on a more primitive, remote planet. And somehow, some years later, the Field Marshall's people found me. They took me prisoner, interrogated me, even mind-probed me. They learned of the kind of knowledge I had at my disposal, so the Field Marshall took me away for his own use. Sequestered me here, to help him prepare for his revenge attack against Earth."

"And you helped him?" John could not stop some anger from seeping into his voice. "You actually helped him?"

"I had little choice in the matter," Faroc replied. He did not sound defensive, merely tired. As if the whole prospect of living itself had grown weary for him. "They made me dependent upon chemical stimulants and used them as a means of controlling me."

"How long have you been here?" Daniel asked him. His voice was far more reassuring. Trust Daniel to be kind to the Field Marshall's little helper.

"Some years now. I lost track."

"What did you give the Field Marshall?" John asked. He picked up one of the devices on the bench, partially disassembled as it was. "One of these? The power to walk through walls?"

"I was a scientist, but I was not heavily involved with the creation of such devices. I needed an intact one to duplicate. And somehow the Field Marshall found one, along with a knowledge base on computer."

"The last thing he needed to attack Earth." Daniel rubbed at his eyes, his mind working over the implications. "The phase-shifters, they're to go through our iris, aren't they?"

"The shield over your stargate?" Faroc nodded. "The Field Marshall spoke of it. But he also mentioned there was much more to it than that. A double-pronged attack, using cloaked transport ships."

"Cloaked?" John looked up then, feeling another spike of anger. "Don't tell me you gave that bastard actual cloaking tech?"

"John." Daniel turned to him, his voice carrying a stern edge. A signal to calm down, one that John did not entirely appreciate. "It's not his fault."

"The hell it is." John shot a hard glare at the Tollan scientist. "You just helped a maniac attack my home-world. Who knows how many people are dead already?"

"I had no choice."

"There's always a choice." John spoke this as the gospel he perceived it to be. It did not matter what the situation was, there was always another option. He knew this from experience, yet despite his increasingly impassioned tones, the Tollan scientist appeared unfazed.

"We've never had the means to detect cloaked ships," Daniel added.

"I enhanced the technology," Faroc added. "The Field Marshall's ships will be undetectable to even the most advanced scanners."

"Is that supposed to make me feel better?" John asked him. He turned to Daniel, finding the archaologist's attempt to remain on Faroc's side increasingly grating. "The man's helped an enemy to attack Earth. They're probably there right now, tearing the place up. And all because they got him hooked on drugs."

"You know that's not fair, John."

"Fair? Aliens attacking the SGC isn't 'fair'. This guy giving them phase-shifters isn't 'fair'. Everything he's done has only helped the Field Marshall to hurt innocent people. We have to head back, and we have to do it right now." John turned back to the scientist, his temper flaring. "I sure hope you're happy with what you've done."

"I know what I've done." Faroc looked down, and John thought that he detected some remorse in his voice. Yet even that was hard to determine, and John could not be sure if it was simply his tiredness that was making him sound as such. He might have gone longer than normal without a dose of his stimulants and had descended into a much stronger 'down' period than he was used to. John had seen it before, in those dependent on such drugs. It was not any different with this scientist, and chances are his mind was addled by the withdrawal.

"You said it was a double-pronged attack?" Daniel asked him. "What do you mean? That the Field Marshall isn't just going after the SGC?"

"He did not explain to me the intricacies of his plan," Faroc replied. "Just that he intended to deliver vengeance against the humans he believed had wronged him. He never explained the history he had with your people, either."

"We were friends with your people," Daniel said. "We helped the Tollans, more than once."

"That was a long time ago. And the Tollan people, as a whole, no longer exist. I could very well be the last one."

"You can't be sure of that."

There was a pause. John looked about the room, hoping to spot something, anything that might help them. Instead, he saw a bunch of unfinished and disassembled devices, as well as a whole lot of crystals and gleaming cylindrical objects that were no larger than his thumbnail. Had he been more of a scientist, he might have figured these to be micro, or even nano-circuitry pieces, the building blocks of some of the devices that Faroc had made for the Field Marshall and his soldiers. Each one so small, yet at the same time containing power that surpassed even the most advanced supercomputers on Earth. To John, it was a whole lot of meaningless, useless pieces.

"If you intend on stopping the Field Marshall, know that the technology he has at his disposal does not make him unstoppable." Faroc sat down on a stool by the workbench, his hands resting upon its surface. "The phase-shifters make his soldiers unable to interact with physical matter, outside of what they carry with them when they activate the devices. If they are to hurt anyone, they have to deactivate the devices to do so."

"Yes, I know about that." Daniel said this, and he nodded his head as he recalled the memories of his previous run-ins with the Tollan people. "They'll be as vulnerable as anyone else once those devices are switched off."

Slowly, the Tollan scientist reached under the bench. John pointed his gun at the scientist, prepared to shoot him if he tried any stunts. It was unfounded caution, as the scientist merely retrieved a sleek, silver device about the size of John's palm. It certainly appeared Tollan, similar to what they had found in Ra's fortress. Carefully, the scientist placed the device upon the workbench.

"I didn't grant the Field Marshall infallible technology," Faroc explained. "Like everything, there are flaws one can take advantage of. Especially if one has designed said flaws into the very devices he has built."

"What are you saying?" John narrowed his eyes. "That you sabotaged the phase-shifters?"

"I wouldn't go as far as to call it 'sabotage'. I simply built in an exploitable flaw into the technology, one that this emitter can take advantage of."

"Yeah, they call that 'sabotage' where I'm from." John walked over, slowly, and he picked up the innocuous piece of tech. It appeared simple, almost to an extent of appearing as a children's toy, with a handful of coloured buttons on the face-side but little else to suggest any kind of super-advanced functionality. He supposed that was part of what made it so advanced, that it looked so simplistic a child could work it.

"You have to be within range for it to work," Faroc explained. "It'll emit a pulse burst that will disrupt the phase-shifters, rendering them inoperable."

"Range?" John carefully pocketed the device, half-expecting it to blow up in his face. "What kind of range are we talking about?"

"Twenty metres," Faroc said. "Maybe a little more."

"That's it?" John shook his head. "That isn't much."

"It's all I could do, in so short a time. The best contingency I could come up with." Faroc looked about the room, a sort of longing expression on his face. John turned to Daniel, who gave a light shrug of his shoulders. In the moment he did this, Faroc had reached under the workbench to a shelf just under it, and from there he had pulled one of the alien pistols that the Field Marshall and his soldiers carried. John swivelled around, seeing the movement and the weapon, and he went to raise his gun in turn. However, Faroc did not aim the alien sidearm at him. Instead, he placed it to the side of his own head, the barrel pressed firmly against his temple. Before either John or Daniel could utter a word, the scientist had pulled the trigger.

There was a flash, and most of the man's head exploded into a charred, ashen mess. He fell off of the side of the chair, hitting the floor with a dull _thunk_, the gun still clenched in his now stiff fingers. Blood pooled around the remains of his skull, although much of the damage had been cauterised. If anything, there was far less blood than John would have expected from such a lethal wound. Both the Colonel and Daniel remained frozen for a moment, looking upon the fallen scientist, the pair of them shocked thoroughly.

Joanne and Valkas came running in at that point, weapons at the ready. They regarded John and Daniel, before their eyes went to the dead Tollan scientist. Immediately, they both visibly relaxed, with no imminent threat present. Joanne looked a little shocked, but her face hardened almost right away.

"Jesus," John muttered. He turned to Joanne and Valkas, who were both understandably a little confused. "That was the guy who gave the Field Marshall the phase-shifters. I guess he was guilty about it after all."

Daniel looked especially shaken, even if this was far from the first time he had seen someone die. Still, the thought that the last Tollan had just taken his own life was a heavy one.

"We have to go." John started for the room's exit, but Daniel stepped in front of him.

"We can't just leave him."

"Yes, we can. We haven't got the time for a proper burial." John was not in the mood for any of Daniel's moral championing. "The Field Marshall is on Earth. That much should be obvious from the fact that he isn't here."

"We can take him back with us…"

"What for?" John sighed. Now was not the time for an argument. "The man's dead. I don't think he's going to care where his body ends up. I know it sounds harsh, but I'm just being realistic here. We have to leave, and we need to do it right now."

Daniel appeared torn for a moment. It was apparent that he knew that John was right, they simply could not afford to waste any further time. They had already wasted enough, being held captive by Fleet Commander Cassalis and her subordinates. Had it not been for them, they would have reached Earth by now, and could very well have beaten the Field Marshall to the punch. There was no telling what had become of the SGC by this point, whether the Field Marshall had simply blown it to smithereens or not. They had to investigate, and they had to do it sooner rather than later.

John pointed to Valkas.

"Get Cassalis off the bomber. We're going to try the gate." Valkas nodded his head in acknowledgement of the order, before he turned and left the room. He turned to Joanne and Daniel next. "I need one of you to get on the bomber's comms. We haven't got our GDOs, or our radios. If the stargate on Earth is still intact, we need to let them know we're coming through. And this time we need to make sure they understand the importance of the situation."

"Do you have a plan?" Joanne was the one to ask this. It was a good question, and one that John did not have much of an answer for.

"Not until we know what's happening on Earth," John replied. "For now, we're just going to have to improvise."

* * *

Daniel was alone in the bomber's control room, working the terminal before him as he activated the ship's communications systems. Through the viewport ahead, he could see the stargate, and the others waiting near the DHD. John was just starting to punch in the address for Earth, while Valkas and Aithris stood a few metres to his right, holding Fleet Commander Cassalis between them. Even at that distance, Daniel could see that she did not appear at all pleased by her current predicament.

A lot had happened in the the last four, maybe five days. In fact, Daniel had no idea how much time had passed, especially in Earth days. Such was the effect of being off-world for any prolonged period, not to mention the difference in day lengths on some planets. Jetlag was one thing, stargate-lag was on another level entirely. No wonder he felt so tired.

Evening had fallen over this part of the planet, the sky above descending in the cold black of night. Stars absolutely packed the sky above, for there was no light pollution here. A silvery, crater-marked moon hung up high, larger than Earth's moon would have been at such an hour. Outside, the stargate activated, with the familiar plume of unstable energy lancing forth upon the last chevron locking. It stabilised quickly, forming the pool of water-like energy that had become so familiar to him over the last twenty-five years.

John turned towards the bomber then, waving at Daniel. The signal to go-ahead. Daniel had keyed the Goa'uld comm system to a normal radio band that the people at the SGC would have no trouble picking up, but it also would not travel too far from where they were. A means of limiting the potential of drawing unwanted attention to themselves.

"This is Doctor Daniel Jackson." He spoke clearly into the terminal, his eyes flitting over the display hovering in front of him. "Can you hear me? I'm broadcasting on the general SGC frequency. Can anyone hear me?"

He paused. No response. The stargate had activated, so that at least meant it was still standing. That was a good sign. Daniel tried again, keeping his voice clear and level.

"This is Doctor Daniel Jackson, to Stargate Command. Can you hear me? I am broadcasting on the general SGC frequency." He paused again, waiting for a reply. After a moment, he did hear a voice, and it was a familiar one.

"_This is General Floyd Janssen. We can hear you, Doctor Jackson. We were beginning to think we would never hear from you again."_

Daniel felt a wave of relief upon hearing the General's voice.

"I have Colonel Sheppard, Captain Bowers and Valkas with me, General." He wondered how he would explain the presence of Aithris, and that of Cassalis. "We request access to the SGC. We have information that could be vital to the protection of Earth."

"_You can come on through. Just be aware, you will be met with a security team. We've been having a number of problems of our own here."_

That was understandable. Daniel motioned to John through the viewport of the bomber: a thumbs-up.

"We have two alien captives with us," Daniel added. "Recommend search and quarantine protocols be put into effect."

There was a pause on the other end of the line, as the General considered this new information.

"_Bring them along,"_ he said, finally. _"I'm sure you have a good reason for taking them with you."_

Daniel certainly hoped the reasons would be deemed as such. He turned and left the control centre, relieved to finally put this latest galactic jaunt behind him. He could not wait to return to Earth and, among other things, have a bath.


	36. Home Sweet Home

**Home Sweet Home**

The Field Marshall seemed to know where he was going. That was partly due to the information Serina had gathered for him, and no doubt helped by his cloaked ships doing flybys of the base beforehand. Everything had been prepared and planned carefully, at least on Serina's part. She knew that the Field Marshall had not told her a number of things, and was no doubt holding out on parts of his plan that he deemed unnecessary for her to know about.

He led his squad through the corridors, jammers active as they moved. Surveillance feeds became hazy, and motion sensors glitched into ineffectiveness as his squad of soldiers strode with purpose through the facility. The admin building that they had been brought to was connected to every other building via a series of underground tunnels, sparse and grey, with pipes and conduits winding along the ceilings above them. There were security checkpoints along the way, all of which had been set to high alert as a result of the explosions that had wracked the surface level base. Serina could imagine word of the attack being sent to the highest levels of the nation's government, with further forces mobilising against them. And somehow, she knew that the Field Marshall had planned for this.

The security checkpoints were manned by, at most, two soldiers. The first one the group encountered was dispatched within seconds, both guards being shot down before they could react to the sudden appearance of the squad of reddish-brown aliens. This was repeated once more, after they had traversed a long section of tunnel, before they came upon the underground section of what Serina saw to be the communications building.

Area 51 was fitted with all manner of sophisticated systems, and the communications building housed what was essentially a nexus for the country's military operations, not to mention having a near worldwide reach. They were right alongside the vast, underground hub right now, situated under the transmitter tower that Serina had seen on the outside. Here, the Field Marshall signalled his squad to halt, and he turned to Serina. In one hand, he held one of the phase-shifter devices, holding it out to her

"Take it," he said. Serina did as she was told, and she used the strap under the device to attach it to her left forearm. As soon as this was done, the Field Marshall activated his own phase-shifter, as did his team members. Serina followed suit, feeling an odd tingling sensation as the device's unique energies worked their way through her. Before she could get used to the sensation, the Field Marshall had walked through the wall in front of her, disappearing through it with a white flash of light whilst the concrete around him appeared to wobble and contort. His soldiers followed, one after the other, bypassing any and all of the further security checkpoints that might have been between them and the underground hub's main entrance.

It was an odd sensation, walking through a solid wall. Serina was not really prepared for it, nor was she prepared for the fact that the wall itself filled her vision completely for a few seconds, before she was through the other side. It made her wonder, what might have happened had the device failed and left her stuck in the wall. Likely nothing pleasant, hence why she put that thought aside. The sensation was fleeting, and she was through the wall in a matter of seconds. The room on the other side was large and filled to the brim with computer terminals and assorted panels, readouts and the like. At the far end, upon the wall, were a set of massive screens that displayed shifting computerised maps of the world, one of which appeared to display orbital paths of satellites. Another showed what she assumed to be flight paths of aircraft.

Banks of computer terminals were to either side of a central aisle. Technicians were scattered about, working at their assigned stations. A handful of guards were by the main doors, as well as at the other end of the room. Red alarm lights were flashing, no doubt in response to the explosions above ground. Most of the people here did not immediately notice the squad of armed aliens who had just walked in through the wall, and it was one of the female techicians nearby who saw them first. She stumbled from her chair, screaming, and it was this sound that alerted the rest of the room to the presence of the intruders.

Chaos erupted. Technicians fled for the exits, people shouted and shoved, and the armed guards at either end began to open fire. The Field Marshall and his squad moved in swiftly, raking energy weapons fire across the fleeing workers. They had deactivated their phase-shifters, ensuring that they were back in phase with the rest of the world. Serina did not immediately turn hers off; rather, she stood aside and watched as the Field Marshall's squad carried out their ruthless, merciless work.

Men and women were cut down relentlessly, bodies tumbling, blood splattering onto computer monitors and the like. A rattle of weapons fire from further ahead made Serina duck, despite her being out-of-phase with the bullets themselves; one of the Field Marshall's soldiers was struck down, purple blood spurting out of a hole that had been shot into his throat. He let out a deep gargle as he fell, stumbling upon a set of computer terminals that sparked and flashed as stray bullets smashed into the displays.

The guards were torn apart in a hail of white energy bolts. Flashes of flame and puffs of smoke erupted with each hit, and the half a dozen armed guards present in the room were rendered dead or close to it. The Field Marshall's team moved systematically and in close coordination, with the Field Marshall himself leading the charge. Serina had to admit, the alien officer's combat experience was apparent, from the way he moved and carried himself, to the signals and orders given to his subordinates. One of them went for the main doors, standing guard by them as the Field Marshall made his way for one of the central terminals. Another soldier shot out the security cameras around the room.

He turned to one of his subordinates, specifically one who wore one of the odd tanks at his back. He spoke to him, presumably ordering him somewhere, although the Field Marshall's translator did not render the words comprehensible for Serina. The subordinate nodded in acknowledgement of the instructions, and three other members of the squad followed him out of the room.

Serina finally deactivated her phase-shifter. She had to step over several bodies to get to the Field Marshall, and she watched him as he used one foot to roll over a wounded technician. The young woman looked up at him with horrified eyes, before the Field Marshall promptly shot her between them. Serina had seen her fair share of violence over the years, so she felt little at the sight of the woman's head being rendered a bloody, charred mess with little left of the face to discern.

Another one of the Field Marshall's soldiers approached what was no doubt the main computer terminal. The Field Marshall's squad member began to tap commands into the terminal hurriedly, working the controls with an expertise that Serina had not expected. Just how much 'research' had the Field Marshall's people done, to prepare for this operation? How much did they know of the people of Earth, and how they worked in general? Serina had gathered a considerable amount of intelligence for them in that regard, but it was apparent that they had gotten themselves far more than she could ever have hoped to provide.

The subordinate at the computer attached some kind of small, palm-computer to the main terminal. It was semi-ogranic in nature, like much of the technology utilised by the Field Marshall's people. The cables attaching it to the human computer looked more like veins than anything rubber or plastic, each one covered in a sticky, red fleshy substance that had all the appearance and texture of someone's insides. Lights blinked on its tiny display, and the images upon the three massive screens up on the wall above shifted. Alien symbols began scrolling across them, with the colours shifting to a mix of varying shades of purple and red.

The Field Marshall walked up alongside Serina then, seemingly admiring the change. She had a good idea what he was doing now, as this was one part of his plan that he had decided to tell her about.

"Soon enough, this entire world will be in chaos," the Field Marshall stated. "And when they are disorganized and terrified, we will strike and put fear into their very hearts. They have networked everything, and as a result, they have made this so much easier for us."

"Did your Tollan asset help you with this?" Serina asked him.

"As a matter of fact, we prepared much of this next part ourselves." The Field Marshall, despite the synthesized voice, sounded almost proud of the fact. Serina kept her face neutral, unwilling to give the alien officer the satisfaction of appearing even marginally impressed.

"They'll be pouring in from outside," Serina said. "Have you planned for that?"

"Of course," the Field Marshall replied. "And even if they were to break in, they would be too late. It has already begun, Serina. This world will never be the same again."

That was one thing Serina could be sure of. That was why she had come here in the first place, to finally put an end to the complacency and hubris of the humans of the Tau'ri. They were growing into a serious threat, and someone was needed to cut them down to size.

* * *

Joanne should have expected the mess they came upon when they stepped through the stargate. It only made sense, that the Field Marshall and his soldiers having been absent from their camp, had instead launched their strike against Earth. Still, it was a bit of a shock to see the damage done. As soon as she had stepped through the wormhole and into the familiar embarkation room of the SGC, she saw right away what had happened. One did not need to have a powerful imagination to picture the kind of chaos that had occurred here, only a short while ago.

The embarkation room was a mess. Part of the ramp leading into the mouth of the stargate was twisted and melted, putting it at a slight slant to the left that Joanne felt under her feet right away. A massive black scorch mark was all over the floor at the end of it, with the concrete floor and wall by it thoroughly burned. There were the telltale marks of where bodies had fallen amongst this, although the bodies themselves had since been moved. The control room windows were smashed, and energy bolt marks dotted the walls of the embarkation room, the adjoining corridors and even the briefing room itself. A squad of Marines awaited Joanne and the team, rifles raised, fingers on the triggers. They were taking no chances.

Joanne was followed by Daniel, John, Valkas and Aithris. Valkas had a firm grip upon Cassalis, whose hands were bound behind her back. She limped on her wounded leg, her yellow eyes shifted into a scowl. Nonetheless, she took in her surroundings with keen interest, presumably hoping that she could use what she saw here today against them at some point in the future. Eyeing up a means to escape, even, not that escaping from the SGC would be easy. Unless, of course, one could walk through walls.

Janssen appeared from one of the adjoining corridors. The Marines at the base of the ramp kept their weapons raised, if only because of the strangers amongst the team. Behind the group, the stargate shut off, the wormhole disappearing abruptly, leaving nothing but empty air within the ancient ring.

"Is this it?" Cassalis sounded almost dismissive. "Do you humans not know how to clean up after yourselves?"

John shot a mean glare at her, before he turned his attention towards the General. The man himself appeared relieved to see them, which was a contrast to the determined look that Colonel Sheppard's face morphed into. To Joanne, it looked like the face of a man intent on murdering someone.

"Where is he?" John strode down the ramp, eyes taking in the damage all around them.

"Now, Colonel…" Janssen began, but he trailed off as he laid eyes upon both Aithris and the captive Cassalis. "Who the hell are they?"

"We picked up a few strays, sir," Joanne said. She motioned to Aithris. "He's Aithris. He's some kind of space vagrant or something." She then pointed at Cassalis. "That right there is Fleet Commander Cassalis of the Calsharans. She's a bitch, sir."

Cassalis narrowed her eyes at the remark, but otherwise settled them upon General Janssen.

"Are you the commander here?" She asked him. Janssen, seeing the challenge in her eyes, took a few steps towards her. He met her gaze firmly, sensing a potential foe within her.

"How do you fit into all of this, Commander?" He asked her.

"Your people took me prisoner," Cassalis replied. "An act of war, on their part."

John turned to her, one accusing finger pointed.

"No, that shit won't fly here." He was barely keeping his anger in check. "She took _us_ prisoner, General. And she was going to drag us off to some Calsharan prison. If it wasn't for her, we would have gotten here sooner, and we could have prevented…" He trailed off, his eyes searching around the damaged embarkation room. He gestured with one arm towards the damage as a whole. "We could have prevented _this_. Just how bad is it, General?"

Janssen shook his head, as he turned to face John.

"It's worse than it looks, Colonel." He looked over the group of them. Joanne knew that they were dirty, hurt, tired and they probably all smelled bad as well. "Get to the infirmary, get checked out and cleaned up. As for the Commander here, I'll have her put in the brig for now. The same for your other new friend." His eyes drifted to Aithris, who had been standing at the rear of the group quietly. The alien bowed his head slightly, as a show of respect.

"I understand your caution, General," he stated, in his gravelly baritone. "But I assure you, I do not intend to harm your people. In fact, I only wish to talk. I feel that it was providence that brought us together…"

"Yeah, sure. Whatever you say." The General motioned to the squad of Marines. They lowered their weapons and moved in on the group, with two taking Cassalis from Valkas, while another two roughly grabbed Aithris by both arms. To his credit, the 'Nomad' did not resist, allowing them to bind his hands behind his back with a plastic cable-tie.

Janssen turned back to Sheppard.

"Once your team's cleared, I want you up in the briefing room. A-S-A-P."

John nodded. However, Joanne could see the anger in his eyes, and she knew what he truly wanted then and there.

"Sure, General. But first, I want to know: _where is he?_"

* * *

Darren McClintock was in his office, packing his bags. John supposed he should not have been surprised, as the man had long since proven he did not have a backbone. Traversing the corridors, John saw firsthand the kind of damage that had been caused, and he was surprised that it had not been worse. The Field Marshall could have had this place levelled, and in fact it was likely that he had tried to do just that. Yet the SGC remained, albeit its corridors were marked with scorches from energy weapons and bullet holes. Blood stains, both alien and human, were scattered around and bodies were still being packed up and carted away. John received a few curious looks from the guards and medical personnel he strode on by, being as dirty and dishevelled as he was. His face carried a hefty stubble now, which only added to his rugged, unkempt appearance.

Everything could be tied back to McClintock, in a way. Had he not barred them from returning, then there was a good chance none of this would have happened. They would have brought the Tollan devices here and prevented them from falling into the hands of the Field Marshall. Sure, it was perhaps a stretch, saddling McClintock with all the blame, but at this stage John was not in any mood to think too hard about it. He was angry, frustrated and tired. He was also saddled with the fact that things were only going to get worse.

McClintock was stuffing some documents into his briefcase when John barged into his office. The man looked up at the intruder, eyes widening when he saw the Colonel. They became even wider when he saw the alien plasma rifle in his grip. The man's office had seen a bit of damage, mostly on the door, which had had a few holes blasted into it from an energy weapon. Of course, John should have guessed that the man himself would have escaped harm.

"You son of a bitch," John barked, as he stepped into the room. He could hear footsteps coming down the hall; Joanne and Daniel, he reckoned. They were well aware of what he intended to do to the bureaucrat. "All of this could have been prevented!"

"Colonel, I, ah…" McClintock ceased his packing and put up his hands. "I had my orders."

"Oh, of course." John clenched his jaw. "You were _just following orders_."

He heard Daniel's voice, then, as the archaeologist came racing up to him from down the hall.

"John, don't do anything you'll regret!" Damn that man and his constant appeals to one's morals. John scowled, eyes fixed upon McClintock. He aimed his Calsharan plasma rifle at the man, his finger on the pressure pad that served as a trigger. He seriously considered shooting him, then and there. Sure, he knew it would land him in prison, but at this point he did not care.

Anger boiling over, he released a long, frustrated yell. John shifted his aim and opened fire at the same time, as if directing his pent-up anger through the gun itself. Working the trigger rapidly, he sent a hail of blue energy bolts flying, sending McClintock diving to the floor behind the desk as they slammed into the wall above him. Holes were blasted into concrete, small puffs of dust exploding forth with each impact. McClintock cowered on the floor, hands over his head, as the onslaught came. And then John, letting out another frustrated yell, threw the weapon to the floor and turned around. He stormed out of the room, barging past Joanne and Daniel, leaving the stunned McClintock to slowly rise to his feet and gather himself.

Janssen met him in the corridor. The General frowned, and John stopped a few metres in front of him.

"You done?" He asked him.

"Yeah." John scratched at the stubble on his chin. "Let me get cleaned up, and I'll be right on up to the briefing room."

"Sure." Janssen watched as John walked off. Behind him, McClintock slowly emerged from his office, briefcase in hand. The man appeared understandably shaken, and it was here that Janssen turned to him and frowned.

"I suggest you leave, Darren," Janssen warned. "I'm sure your superiors will want a detailed report on everything that has transpired here."

"Yes, yes they will." McClintock used one hand to adjust his tie, watching Janssen with uncertain eyes. He appeared to be about to say something more, but seemed to change his mind, as he turned around and started off down the opposite end of the corridor.

* * *

While the others went off to clean up and get changed, Daniel elected to take a slight detour to the brig. The SGC contained a few detainment cells in one corner of the facility, which generally served as temporary accommodations for any prisoners that were gathered on off-world missions. They hardly saw much use, and from his knowledge, the most recent of the 'guests' kept down here had been Valkas, before he had been moved into something more comfortable and befitting of a willing assistant to the SGC. Now there were two new captives, kept in separate cells across from one another, and it was the one on the left as Daniel walked in that he was drawn towards. The guards let him in without question.

Aithris was seated on the bunk in his cell. He appeared relaxed, the hood on his jacket thrown back and his eyes closed as if in meditation. Daniel approached the cell, aware that Fleet Commander Cassalis was eyeing him from the cell behind him. She was lying on the bunk inside, propped against the wall with her wounded leg straight out before her.

"You're the scholar in your group, aren't you?" Cassalis asked aloud, as Daniel went by. He paused, turning around to face her. In his cell, Aithris opened his eyes, shaken out of whatever meditation he had been doing by the Fleet Commander's voice.

"Yes? Why?" What she said seemed about right.

"It's no surprise, that the Nomad managed to sucker you into his crusade." Cassalis smiled then, bearing her pointed white teeth. Daniel found it little different to the look of an alligator, right before it bit down into its prey. "His people think they have all the answers. But they have no idea."

"No idea? About what?"

Cassalis did not reply. Instead, she relaxed against the wall, turning her head from Daniel as she did so. Apparently, that was all she was willing to say, for now. From what John had told him, Cassalis had seemed the type to enjoy the sound of her own voice. Apparently, she was no longer in a mood for talking.

"Daniel." Aithris rose to his feet and approached the bars of the cell. Daniel turned his attention to him, meeting the alien's red eyes. "Have you told your superiors? About what I said?"

"Not yet." Daniel was not sure what to tell anyone, as he was not entirely certain if he believed it all himself. "You have to understand, we've got our own problems right now."

"I can tell." Aithris's voice took on a grim tone. "Your facility was attacked. By the same aliens we encountered at that camp."

"That's right. From what I've been told, the situation here is getting bad." Daniel paused for a moment, considering what else to add. "I wanted to come by, see how you were doing. And apologise for locking you up."

"This?" Aithris gave a light shrug, as he gestured around the cell with one hand. "This is nothing I'm not used to. As a wanderer, I have found myself in many cells in many places. People do not often welcome me with open hands, human or otherwise."

"It's just a precaution. Once my superiors have worked something out, you'll be released. You could even end up a productive member of the team, like Valkas."

"You trust that Calsharan?"

"More than any other." Daniel gave a quick glance back to Cassalis, who was watching him with some noticeable contempt on her face. "He pulled through more than once when we needed him. Saved my life, and the lives of the rest of the team. Why? You don't think he should be trusted?"

"No, nothing like that. Many centuries ago, the Calsharans were an honorable people, and they had an honorable leader. Now, though…" He trailed off, and his gaze went over Daniel's shoulder and to Cassalis. "Something happened along the way that has led them astray."

"Any idea what?"

"I would say that their leadership began to ignore the teachings and laws laid down by the one who united them, far back when their species first attained hyperspace travel. But beyond that, I cannot be certain." Aithris frowned. "They are supremacists now, and their recent mobilisation would suggest that they intend on taking a far more active role in galactic affairs, for better or worse. Most likely worse, in this case."

"You think they'll be trouble?"

"They'll be more than that, Daniel Jackson." He let out a sigh. "It is good of you to come here and check up on me. If your leaders want any information, I will be more than happy to provide them with it. We must work together, if we are to survive the coming trials."

Daniel found Aithris' increasingly ominous talk troubling. It was one thing to have the Field Marshall and his soldiers on the rampage, but Aithris' warnings of a 'great enemy' was one problem that they did not need right now. And, of course, the added issue of the Calsharans and their apparently hostile intentions made for a volatile mix. Daniel was always one to try and find alternatives to conflict, yet with not one, not two but _three_ different sets of bad guys out to get them, he was beginning to realise that avoiding conflict was, in a way, going to be three times more difficult than it usually was.

* * *

It had been a tense few minutes since Serina and the Field Marshall had entered the communications centre. The Field Marshall had sent off three of his people on some kind of assignment, one that apparently required the use of the metal tanks the three of them had been wearing on their backs. In the meantime, one of the Field Marshall's other subordinates had been working at the main terminal, their own personal organic computer connected to the machine. Serina had done little else but stand back and watch, feeling increasingly out-of-place. Behind her, the main doors had been closed, and two of the Field Marshall's soldiers stood watch.

"They'll be bearing down on us in a minute," Serina warned. She turned to the Field Marshall, who was standing nearby, his attention set upon the three large displays on the wall above them. They were now completely filled with alien symbols, all of which were incomprehensible to Serina.

"They won't reach us," the Field Marshall replied, calm and collected. He walked over to a nearby monitor, and with one hand he beckoned Serina to follow. She did so, stopping a few steps from him as she settled her gaze upon the display. She saw quickly that they were surveillance feeds, and the monitor flicked from one to another every ten seconds or so. Armed guards were racing down the tunnels outside, red lights flashing as the entire base was plunged into high alert. Serina could see right away that there were far more of the soldiers than there were of the Field Marshall's team, and even with the phase-shifters their odds would be poor.

"It looks like they're about to reach us," Serina countered. "What was the next step of your plan, outside of getting trapped in the heart of their facility?"

The Field Marshall did not reply. Instead, he spoke in his guttural, alien tongue, presumably into whatever concealed communication device he was wearing. He was giving orders, Serina realised. And as she watched the shifting surveillance feeds, she noticed that the soldiers outside began to stumble and fall. It all happened over the span of a few minutes, with the approaching guards moving without pause at first, only for some unseen force to overcome them. Some clutched at their throats, as if struggling for breath, before falling to floor. A few of them convulsed, only for their movements to cease abruptly after a few moments. Serina watched on and realised that perhaps the Field Marshall had, indeed, planned for just about everything.

"The three soldiers I sent out were equipped with tanks of a toxic gas," the Field Marshall explained. "One engineered by my people for use on human populations. It is invisible and carries no scent, so you can imagine the ease of which it can be applied."

"You pumped it into the ventilation systems," Serina said, with realisation. The Field Marshall had just killed a whole bunch of soldiers without a shot being fired. He really had prepared himself for this mission.

_He has had twenty years to prepare._ Strivak, always the more knowledgeable, spoke into her mind then. He was right, of course, he nearly always was. The Field Marshall had been preparing his venture to Earth for a long time, and it stood to reason that he was not about to let a bunch of human guards get in his way.

"The virus we have uploaded into the systems here allows us to hijack the base's central systems," the Field Marshall said. "That includes ventilation."

"And this gas, is it lethal to your own?"

"Only in large doses." The Field Marshall seemed to scrutinise her then. "You seem worried, Serina. The gas dissipates after about an hour, and this room is contained. It would be unwise to poison the environment for any longer than necessary."

The subordinate he had working at the main terminal turned to him then. He gave his commander a nod, and the Field Marshall walked up alongside him. Serina felt the atmosphere in the room change then, as if a switch had been flicked and all of the Field Marshall's patience and planning was finally about to come to full fruition.

"Now, Serina," he said, turning to her. "Perhaps you would like to watch firsthand as I plunge this world into chaos?" His right hand had grasped the small palm-sized organic computer, his thumb drifting over what she took to be the 'execute' button. "I think you might find it very interesting."

Serina did not reply. Now was the point of no return, and she even felt Strivak stir a little, as if aware of this. Once the Field Marshall's computer virus was fully engaged, things on planet Earth would never be the same again. A historic moment, at least for the people of this world.

Without further pause, the Field Marshall pressed the button.


	37. Light a Fire

**Light a Fire  
**April 2nd, 2022

It was about nine o'clock in the evening when Daniel found himself in the briefing room. He had showered, changed clothes and shaved, leaving him feeling much better now that he was out of the foul-smelling uniform he had been stuck in for the past several days. Now in a plain green BDU, he had seated himself at the conference table in the briefing room, unable to help but find his eyes drawn to the damage done all around them. Scorch marks were scattered all over the walls, and the transparent star-map that served as a window into the General's office was smashed into pieces. Even the table itself had not been spared from the onslaught, with numerous charred black marks and bullet holes dotting its surface.

Daniel was not the only one who had changed into something more presentable. Joanne and John were here also, seated across from him. Both were clean, changed and John had shaven. He now looked more like the John that Daniel had been used to seeing, even if he appeared much angrier and jaded than usual. And then there was Valkas, who had apparently also showered, now dressed in a plain blue uniform that was, presumably, in the XXXL size category. Janssen was seated at the head of the table, his expression grim, having heard the general rundown of what had happened off-world from John. The Colonel had not spared any details, starting with their capture by the Field Marshall, before going through to their capture by the Fleet Commander and the fact that they had likely started a war with the Calsharans.

"So, that's the most of it." John leaned forwards a little where he sat. "What kind of situation are we looking at here, General? Because I think our week's been bad enough."

"The situation is as bad as they come, Colonel." Janssen rubbed at his eyes, likely weary from all that had occurred. Daniel could empathise, as what he really could do with right now was a good night's sleep. "We've received word that shortly before you arrived, an unknown force attacked the Groom Lake airbase. Explosions occurred on the surface facility, and I only just received a call that the underground facility itself was infiltrated by an alien force. One capable of passing through walls."

Daniel exchanged glances with John. Both were surprised by this information, and Janssen appeared stunned by it as well.

"Area 51?" Joanne was the one to say this, and her face spoke volumes as to her confusion. "But they came through the gate here. And now they're over in Nevada?"

"Evidently, the strike force sent here was not the only one." Janssen scratched at his chin, his mind sifting through all that he had been told of the situation. "And those who did attack the SGC did so with the intent of escaping into the outside world."

"And since they can pass through walls…" John trailed off, and he regarded the others with a grim expression. They all knew what it meant, and it was nothing good.

"They had no trouble bypassing the lockdown, and the army of guards between them and the outside world. Not to mention that some of them appeared to walk through the mountain itself, and likely came out in the surrounding woods." Janssen shook his head slowly. "This is by far the worst incursion we've faced, and the only one of it's kind for many years."

On the table in front of him was the device that Faroc had handed them. The one he had said was supposedly able to disrupt the phase-shifter technology, for all the good it would do them here. Janseen picked it up, holding it to the light as he gave it close examination.

"Are you sure that this will work?" He asked them.

"No." John sounded doubtful. "But it's all we've got." He paused, as he considered what else to add. "How many got through the gate? How many got out of the base? Do we know?"

Janssen put the Tollan device back down and once more shook his head. The seriousness of the situation was weighing upon him heavily, and Daniel could feel some of that weight himself, as could the others. If anything, the only one not looking too grim was Valkas. Then again, he was sometimes hard to read, and his neutral expression only added to this.

"No accurate estimates," Janssen replied. "All the surveillance footage of them is fuzzy to the point of being useless. We suspect that they were carrying jammers of some design."

"They didn't try to blow up the SGC?" Joanne asked. It would have been the obvious course of action, for an attacking force. The SGC was one of the biggest threats to alien invaders on Earth, aside from the Ancient weapons platform in Antarctica. Taking it out would cripple their means of combating an alien incursion.

"They did." Janssen's grim expression shifted slightly. "That's the only good news I have, really. We were able to stop them from carrying out that part of their attack. In fact, the one who did stop them is someone you might know." He turned to the doorway in the corner, next to where his office was located. As if on cue, another man walked in, one whom Daniel recognized straight away. Sure, he was older, they all were, but this was one face Daniel would never forget.

"Jack?" It was a surprise to see him here. The man was, after all, supposed to be enjoying his retirement.

"I knew that if there was any trouble, you'd be right in the middle of it." Jack stopped by the conference table, just to Daniel's right. He regarded the team with a level gaze, giving a curt nod to Sheppard, who returned the gesture. It wasn't until he looked to Valkas that his expression changed, and he slightly scrunched up his brow as he regarded the alien team member.

"And you are…?"

"Valkas." The alien leaned back in his chair, causing it to creak loudly.

"Ah, so you're the token alien squadmate." Jack shook his head, as if in approval. "Should have known."

"If you want to put it that way." Valkas rested his hands upon the table before him. "Although, I'm not sure I know exactly what you mean."

"It doesn't matter." Jack turned to Daniel. "You've fallen in with an interesting bunch, Daniel."

"Yeah, I suppose I have." Daniel adjusted his glasses with one finger, pushing them a bit further up his nose. "What are you doing here, Jack? I thought you'd retired."

"They just keep bringing me back. No rest for the wicked, not that I'm wicked or anything. Just saying." He paused, hands resting upon the top of the empty seat in front of him. "I was brought in at the request of the General here. He wanted my help with something. Looks like there's some kind of conspiracy out there, and it's eating up a lot of the money that once went to the SGC. That guy, McClintock? He answers to them."

"Does he now?" John said this aloud, and it was apparent that he was putting together yet more reasons to despise the man.

"Not to worry. We sorted that out. For now, anyway."

"Aside from that project," Janssen stated. "Broadsword? We still have no idea what that's about."

"I get the impression we'll find out eventually," Jack replied. "We'll do a little more digging, once this current situation is sorted. That's why we're here, isn't it? To talk about how those aliens just swept in and wrecked the place?"

"Using Tollan technology, no less." Janssen shook his head. "It's the worst-case scenario. Alien intruders entered the base, and many of them were able to get out. With the phase-shifting technology, they were able to outright walk through the lockdown without anyone being able to stop them. We have no idea exactly how many made it into the outside world, but rest assured I have the President breathing down my neck for an explanation."

"You did tell them that they could walk through walls, right?" Jack asked.

"That's not the point. The point is, it should never have happened in the first place. Had McClintock not barred Sheppard's team from returning the first time…" He trailed off, but the implication was clear. Daniel knew it too well; they had had the Tollan devices in hand at that point, and had they returned with them then the Field Marshall would never have gained hold of them. And, in turn, he would not have been able to duplicate and fabricate more.

"How many aliens are we talking?" John turned to the General. "It can't have been a whole lot. Like, twenty? Thirty?"

"More like one-hundred." There was an uneasy silence when Janssen delivered this statistic. "We can't be certain, but a lot of them came out of that gate. And most went straight through the walls of this facility. A smaller force appeared to have the express mission of shooting up the place, as well as attempting to set off a bomb within the mountain. Jack was there to stop them, thankfully. Some kind of fusion bomb, with the explosive potential of vaporising the entire mountain and miles worth of the surrounding countryside."

"There are one-hundred aliens out there?" John sounded as if he did not quite believe it. Daniel had to admit, he was not sure if he really believed it himself. "They wouldn't happen to have more of these bombs, would they?"

"We don't know. It's likely they could be carrying smaller, tactical warheads, but again that's just a guess on our part. The whole state is on high alert now. They've been told it's a terrorist incursion, and not extraterrestrial."

"Because that is what they are," Daniel stated. "Terrorists. That's why they're here."

"About that." Janssen narrowed his eyes. "This 'Field Marshall', you spoke to him?" Now his gaze went towards Sheppard, so far the only one in the group who had actually spoken to the alien.

"He said that about twenty years ago he lead an incursion here. Something that wasn't in any of the reports I've seen."

"Because the whole thing was buried." Jack interjected then, as he and Daniel were the only two in the room with even some knowledge of that earlier attack. "They infiltrated the SGC with holographic disguises and impersonated most of the personnel on the base. Those they impersonated were strung up in one of the lower levels, hooked to some kind of mind-reading thing so they could better play their parts. They were going to start working their way into the government itself before we caught them out."

"Several of them got away," John explained. "The Field Marshall told me his son was among the ones who got stuck here. The same ones that blew themselves up, instead of allowing themselves to be captured. We're dealing with a powerful individual with a vendetta against humanity in general. Well, more specifically, the humans of Earth. He wants us to suffer, and he's been planning this whole thing for years."

"It's personal, is it?" Jack appeared to consider this for a moment. "That puts a whole new spin on things. Because if it is personal, and this 'Field Marshall' is using his influence to recruit followers, then we can't count on the fact that he's going to be predictable."

"The ones who stopped here to try and destroy the facility would have known their odds were poor," Janssen added. "It was a literal suicide squad. Even if they had succeeded, chances are they would have been caught in the detonation of their own bomb."

"So fanatics, essentially." Daniel was the one to say this, as he considered the information before them. "We have one-hundred aliens on the loose in the outside world…"

"Not to mention those reported to have infiltrated Area 51."

"A double-pronged attack." John knew where they had heard that before. The Tollan scientist, Faroc, had said as much not long before he had shot himself. "But which one was the diversion? They're both high-value targets. Here, and Area 51."

"The stargate's here, certainly," Janssen said. "But if this place were to be destroyed, sure, we would lose access to the stargate but in the long run what difference would that cause? We have ships, and sooner or later we would dig up the gate and start again with it someplace else. In comparison, Area 51 is where many of our advances are made. Where any recovered alien technology is worked on, disassembled and pieced back together. Our ships were designed there, our fighters built there. Not to mention all of the other tech we have stored there, some of which we still haven't been able to understand."

"I don't think it's the tech these guys are interested in." Daniel had been to Area 51 on more than one occasion in the past, he knew how the place operated and he had a good idea of what was being kept there. "The place is a hub. A nexus-point for the entire country's military. There are some very powerful computers at Area 51. If they were to be compromised…"

"Hang on." Joanne finally spoke up then, a look of confusion on her face. "How on earth could these guys infiltrate Area 51? They can't have just flown in. The place is better secured than Fort Knox. There are scanners running over that place all the time."

"That might stop most people," Daniel countered. "But if you have the power to walk through walls, or to cloak your ships, then it's suddenly not so hard to get around those safeguards. If the Field Marshall's people truly wanted to, they could break in and we would not even know it. Not until they made a move."

"Which they have." Janssen's voice was grim. "They set off explosives across the surface base. And there's at least one group of them in the underground facility."

"But how could they know?" John asked. "How could they know all this about Area 51? They were here once, twenty-something years ago. Did they find out then?"

"It's likely." Janssen did not appear convinced. His eyes went to Valkas, who had been sitting quietly through most of the discussion. "Valkas, do you know anything about these aliens? Are they known to the Calsharans?"

"I don't know of them personally," Valkas replied. "If anyone of us knows of them, it would be the Fleet Commander. You may want to ask her."

"About that." Jack leaned forwards, settling his gaze upon Valkas, who returned it with slightly narrowed amber eyes. "Your people, the Calsharans, are they going to be a problem? Because from what I've heard, they could become a problem. A _big_ one."

"It is likely." Valkas did not sound especially keen on the prospect. "Don't look at me like that. I am not responsible for the actions of my fellow Calsharans."

"Oh, don't get me wrong. Colonel Sheppard says you saved his team and pulled your weight, and then some. If you're good in his books, then you're good in mine. Thing is, and Sheppard has said as much himself, your people weren't exactly friendly. The Fleet Commander in particular."

"She sees the humans of Earth as a threat," John said. "I think she thinks we've grown a little too big for our boots."

All eyes suddenly went to Daniel then. He had had a feeling it would come to this particular topic, and he had been considering how best to explain it all. No one else had really bought into what Aithris was selling, and he was not entirely sure he did as well.

"They used to be strictly isolationist," Daniel explained. "That was what I was told, by the Nomad. Aithris."

"The other alien we have in custody," Janssen added. "What species is he?"

"He didn't say, other than the fact that everyone else calls them 'Nomads'. Only a bunch of them remain, and he told me he was some sort of protector of ancient knowledge. He thinks some higher-power brought us together."

"Does he now?" Jack was understandably sceptical.

"He told me that the Calsharans are mobilising," Daniel continued. "That they're preparing for a war, against some old enemy. One they fought one-thousand years ago. He even showed me a map, one that apparently showed the section of the galaxy where this enemy used to operate."

"So, not the Goa'uld?"

"No." Daniel shook his head. "Something else. Something that the Calsharans have knowledge of."

Now all eyes went to Valkas. He gave a light shrug in response.

"I have only myths and legends to go on," Valkas said. "I have no first-hand knowledge of this 'great enemy'. Only that they threatened my people, shortly after we first attained the ability for hyperspace travel, and that someone named Visala united us to fight against them. Even to this day, the details of this 'enemy' are either forgotten or kept well hidden. I wish I could tell you more, but this is the extent of my knowledge, such as it is."

"Maybe the Fleet Commander might know more?" John suggested. It was clear that he was very much keen on interrogating her himself. Daniel was still a little conflicted on what had happened, back on the Calsharan ship. Had they only made things worse with them, by escaping in the way that they had? Antagonising a powerful alien species had backfired on them in the past.

"First and foremost, we need to deal with the problems here on Earth," Janssen said. "Great enemy or not, we have alien terrorists in the American heartland, and I want every able-body working to solve the problem. That includes you and your team, Colonel. Get organized and get out there to Area 51. We need to…"

Before he could finish, the lights in the room suddenly shut off. The entire conference room was plunged into darkness, as was the rest of the facility. The only sources of light came from the exit signs, stark and green-tinged in the darkness. Computers about the room also switched off, and for an uncomfortably long time the group were seated about the table in what was very close to pitch darkness. Daniel noticed that Valkas' amber eyes had taken on a glowy sort of sheen, not unlike those of a cat when cast in low-light.

"What the hell?" Janssen was out of his seat right away. He went for the phone at his end of the table, but before he could put his hand to it the power came back on, flooding the room with fluorescent light. Computers spun up and came back to life, and the lights throughout the base renewed their illumination. The uncomfortable few seconds of darkness had ended, and Janssen was straight away speaking into the phone. Daniel looked about at the faces of the others, seeing a mix of confusion and worry. Janssen, if anything, was the most concerned.

"This is Janssen." He spoke firmly into the handset, no doubt on the line to the chief technician on duty. "What the hell just happened?" There was a pause as he listened, his face taking on a much harder frown. "How is that possible?" The others at the table looked on expectantly, waiting for an explanation.

"Keep me informed," Janssen said, finally, and he placed the phone back into its holder. He regarded the team before him, and the look on his weathered features was grave. "Some kind of power surge just disrupted all the systems on the base. Not only that, but it appears to have affected the surface level as well. I'm not sure…"

The phone buzzed before he could finish. Picking it up, he listened intently for a good thirty seconds, before he finally spoke.

"Understood." Putting it down again, he once more regarded the worried faces of the team before him. "Turns out it affected more than this base. Any attempt to contact the outside world has so far failed. Landline, and wireless."

"What does that mean?" Joanne's voice was laced with the kind of worry they all felt. Even Valkas appeared concerned, despite his alien nature. "We can't talk to anyone on the outside?"

"Internal communications appear intact, but they're on a separate network." Janssen paused, and a look of realisation appeared on his face. He turned around and went back into his office, trying each phone on his desk. That include the red phone that linked straight to the White House. Each one he tried, he shook his head and put it down after a few attempts at dialling. And just to make sure, he went over to the laptop computer at his desk, tapping a few keys as he tested the network connection. Again, he shook his head.

Daniel felt a tightening in his gut as he watched all this play out. Something told him that the situation, bad as it was, had just become a whole lot worse.

At that moment, every phone in the General's office began to ring. Not only that, but the large computer display at the far wall, that would normally serve as the screen used for mission briefings, suddenly flickered off. Gone was the spinning SGC icon, replaced with a series of fuzzy whitelines and recurring pixellation. Janssen went back into his office then and picked up one of the ringing phones. John, meanwhile, reached over for the phone at the end of the table and picked it up. For a moment, nothing came through. Silence suddenly fell across the room, and the disparate members of the team exchanged worried and confused glances. They had just discovered that communications had been cut off, yet now they were getting calls on every conceivable line.

The picture on the display morphed into a figure that was both familiar and unwelcome. Backgrounded against a dull grey wall, the Field Marshall came into view with complete clarity. Every detail was present, such was the benefit of ultra high-definition picture. This meant that his status as an alien was as obvious as it could possibly be. All eyes went towards this sudden audio and visual intrusion, and an uneasiness fell across the group as a whole. Daniel realised that the same image was being transmitted onto every screen present. This included the smaller computer terminal at the opposite wall, not to mention the General's laptop which was currently situated upon his desk. The ringing ceased, and there was a pause as the Field Marshall seemingly waited for his image to settle and his signal to be loud and clear. He began to speak, his English perfect, no doubt provided by whatever translator he had equipped upon his biomechanical suit.

* * *

It was not just within the SGC that this unexpected broadcast began. It was all over the world, on every television screen, intruding into every other broadcast and delivered in numerous languages according to the part of the world it was being transmitted to. The very alien visage of the Field Marshall intruded into the households of hundreds of millions of people, and over the radios of even more civilians across the world. Computers froze up before the Field Marshall's broadcast intruded, and it was only those devices not tied into any major network, or simply not plugged in that did not receive this transmission.

The Field Marshall's alien features appeared on every screen in Times Square; every smartphone received the transmission, interrupting the device's current actions effortlessly. This was after every call and Internet connection had seemingly been halted, with no one able to reconnect or redial. People paused in their routines as their devices seemingly acted out-of-order, only to be met with the alien officer and his carefully phrased, fluent English (within the United States, at least). One would not be mistaken in assuming this to be a very carefully planned broadcast intrusion, the likes of which had never been seen on the face of the Earth before. All preceded by an interruption of global communications that, again, had never occurred since the onset of the telephone.

And across the world, the same message played; audio or visual, it did not matter. What counted was the words themselves, which were enough to send confusion through the masses of humanity, oblivious to what certain organizations had been doing under their noses for decades.

"_People of Earth, for too long your rulers have lied to you. They have rendered you blind, oblivious to the truths of the universe around you. For decades now, your leaders have enacted a campaign against extraterresrial forces utilising stolen alien technology; they have engaged in full-scale war with powerful alien races, and nary a word of it has found its way into your general population. But no longer. For those of you viewing this broadcast's video, you can see right away what I am. I am not of your world, and I have others with me who are of my species. We come here to right the wrongs that your rulers and their secret machinations have carried out across the galaxy, to tip the scales so that once again the balance of power is restored._

"_Of course, it would be inappropriate to do so without informing you, the normal, everyday human of the planet Earth, of our intentions. Your leaders have failed to do as much, keeping their actions secret from the vast majority of you. Look to the nations of the USA, China, Russia; even Britain, France and the Czech Republic. They have all cooperated in their abuse of alien technology that was never theirs to begin with, they have used it to wage war against other races in the galaxy. They have even built warships, fitted with weapons capable of devastating entire worlds. And yet they keep it all secret, concerned with the consequences the knowledge of such things might bring. I am here to tell you, that the consequences have found their way to your world regardless, and that it is the citizenry of this planet who will pay the price for the actions of their leaders, reckless as they are._

"_I have come here to restore balance to galactic affairs. My soldiers have infiltrated the heart of your society, and they can be anyone, anywhere, through the use of disguises. Your people wronged mine, many years ago, and I intend to return the favour tenfold. At any moment, fusion warheads could be detonated in any one of your cities. Even now, a computer virus engineered by my people has ensured that your global telecommunications infrastructure is rendered non-functional, and it will be many days before your people will be able to repair the damage. Your military forces will not be able to organize, and your leaders unable to effectively communicate. Consider this the first day of the new Earth, aware of its places in the cosmos, and of the consequences of complacency and secrecy, which have been proven time and again to backfire terribly, even if it takes many years for this to occur."_

With that, the visual blinked out, the transmission ended. And in its place, nothing further came on. Just silence. A deafening, worldwide silence.

* * *

"I'd say that's going to cause some problems." Jack was the first to speak, after the broadcast had terminated. Other than that, there was a long, uneasy pause in the briefing room. Janssen put down his phone and stepped out of the office, with John having since put his phone away upon realising the same audio had been coming out of the speakers connected to the main screen.

"No one's going to believe it." Joanne said this, and she sounded fairly certain of it. "I mean, I don't think I would, not at first. It's too easy these days to pull off some special effects wizardry. A lot of people are going to look at the Field Marshall and assume he's just a guy in a rubber costume."

"Rubber costume or not," Janssen stated, his expression grim, "But people are going to panic. If not for the threat, then for the fact that their phones and computers will no longer be working. Whatever the Field Marshall did, he was able to do it from the hub down in Area 51. Something we should have seen coming."

"That whole place should be on lockdown by now," John replied. "Surrounded by soldiers. The Field Marshall can't have many people at his disposal. He'll be outnumbered." He did not sound entirely convinced. He was not, he realised, as he knew full well the implications of what had just occurred. Lockdown had not worked in the SGC, just how well would closing some bulkheads work over at Area 51? These aliens could walk through walls. Who knew what else they could do, thanks to their Tollan captive?

"We don't know that for certain," Janssen said. "We don't know anything about him and what he has at his disposal. There are too many unknowns, and the fact that he was able to pull off that broadcast would suggest that he's got some very sophisticated tech available to him. We can surround Area 51, and that's what's happening as we speak, but anymore than that we will have to tread carefully. You heard him, Colonel. He has soldiers putting fusion bombs in major cities."

"He can't be that widespread," John countered. He did not believe it, not from what he had seen at the off-world camp. "A few here and there, but nothing on a global scale. The Field Marshall is a renegade, he told me outright that his own government didn't know what he was doing. The soldiers at his disposal are loyal to him, and there can't be that many of them to begin with. A couple hundred, maybe. And it sounds like most of them blazed on through here, instead of Area 51."

"What are you saying, John?" Daniel asked this, frowning slightly. "You don't believe he's capable of nuking several cities?"

"Capable? Sure he is. But he doesn't have the resources. That's why he did that broadcast. He wants to strike fear into people. That way he can just step back and watch as we tear each other apart. And without the phones working, there'll be even more panic." John could feel the pieces falling together. Chaos was the Field Marshall's primary objective, and it was just an extension of the alien officer's vendetta against the people of Earth in general. "We need to get to Area 51. With that device, we could cancel out the one major advantage these guys have. Then we can engage them on a level playing field."

Before anyone could add anything further, the familiar alarm of a stargate activation resounded throughout the base. Red lights flashed, and the chevrons on the stargate visible through the briefing room window began to light up. Immediately, the group were up on their feet, with Janssen the first to hurry down into the control room. There, the technician on duty was seated in somewhat dim lighting, with only the one monitor in front of him in any working order.

"General." The technician tapped a command into the computer. "We've managed to get the basic systems back online. That includes iris control."

"Close it."

John and the others grouped up behind the General, eyes fixed on the stargate. Could it be more of the Field Marshall's soldiers? It seemed unlikely. The camp had been empty, save for the guards keeping an eye on the Tollan scientist. And they were all dead now, anyway.

The iris rapidly snapped shut over the gate, seconds before the wormhole came roaring into life. A tense moment followed, as they waited for the familiar streak of energy and odd wobble to occur as once more, alien soldiers fitted with phase-shifters came storming through the metal iris. Instead, nothing of the sort happened; rather, a message appeared on the monitor before the technician.

"What is it?" Janssen asked, looking down at the screen. John saw it too, the message that had appeared, and he knew right away that something was off.

"It's an IDC, sir." The technician frowned, as if doing a double take. "It's the Tok'ra."

"They have great timing." John felt an uneasy shuffle nearby, and he turned his head, eyeing Jack. The man's face was contorted into a scowl.

"It's been years since we heard anything from them," Janssen said. "What do they want?"

"We're getting a signal. Video and audio."

"Put it through." Janssen took a step back, eyes on the monitor, as the picture was replaced with a live feed coming from some kind of sparse chamber somewhere, with a middle-aged man in cream-coloured robes standing a few metres from the recording device. He looked fairly unassuming, and John figured he had some vague resemblance to his tax accountant. Personally, he had never met a Tok'ra, but there was little special about them appearance-wise. It was the presence of the alien symbiote inside them that made them what they were, and from what John had read, said symbiote was supposed to be friendly and not the kind of megalomaniacs the Goa'uld were.

With that in mind, John had also learned that the Tok'ra had apparently traded their megalomania for outright distrust and arrogance, and as such relations between them and the people of Earth had not always been very positive.

"I am Jarell of the Tok'ra," the middle-aged man said, in a very human-sounding voice. The host was speaking, at least for now. "We have something very urgent to discuss, which may have repercussions towards the security of your home-world."

John heard a derisive huff from Jack, and he glanced at the retired General.

"Now they tell us," he remarked.


	38. It Can't Happen Here

**It Can't Happen Here  
**January 15th, 2022

Three months before the expedition to Ra's fortress, before John Sheppard had been put onto the team sent to that remote world, a certain Tok'ra woman no older than twenty had found herself on an alien world with a very particular mission in mind. It was only a few days after her arrival, deposited here via the ring transporter of a cloaked Goa'uld cargo ship. That ship had left her, heading back off into the stars, essentially forcing her to fend for herself on this alien world. This in itself would not be too difficult, as she was familiar with the planet and its people, and she had done some very thorough research prior to coming here. All the knowledge of the Tok'ra pertaining to the planet Earth and the people who lived upon it had been open to her, and she had spent a good while perusing as much of it as she could.

Now here she was, dressed in what could only be described as 'civvies'; denim jeans, hiking boots, a plain white T-shirt and a light brown jacket that she had bought from what the locals here called a 'discount store'. She was alone, inside the shell of a construction site, one situated on the edge of a city known as Las Vegas. From the fourth floor of the mostly concrete and steel shell, unfinished as it was, she could look towards the skyline of the city itself. All manner of lights covered each and every building she could see, forming a massive, blinking beacon against the barren desert that surrounded the city. Above, the skies were clear, bearing the deep purple-black of night, with little to no stars visible from the light pollution that emanated from the city before her. A passenger jet flew high overhead, on a gradual descent as it made its way towards the city's airport.

No city such as this had existed on any planet she had been to. Even the capital city of the Tok'ra, still relatively new as it was, did not have this level of sheer lavishness upon it. Certainly not this amount of lights, either. The humans here had been comfortable for a very long time, free of the oppression of the Goa'uld, or any other hostile alien species for that matter.

_Both beautiful and decadent, all at once._ Strivak's insight here was one she agreed with. She pulled her jacket tighter around her, as a cold breeze wafted through the abandoned construction site. It was then she became aware of footsteps behind her, and she swiftly turned around, settling her eyes upon the very alien figure who had stopped a few metres away. She felt some revulsion upon seeing him, as she recognized this one as the 'Executor'. Whether or not that was a name or a rank, she was not sure. It did not seem to matter much, as she was well aware of the kind of 'man' the Executor was, from what she had managed to gleam from reports and the like. His own people had imprisoned him because he was simply too ruthless, even for them.

"I was expecting your superior." Serina kept her composure as best she could, although some of the contempt she had for this alien might have seeped through.

"He has other matters to attend to." The Executor walked by her and stopped at the simple metal guardrail that served as a barrier between them and the edge of the building. His eyes, or the narrow black slit that served as his eyes, settled upon the city skyline off in the distance. He regarded it with a level gaze for an extended moment, saying nothing whilst Serina watched him with a degree of uncertainty. Part of her could not shake the feeling that working with these aliens would be a mistake, yet she had volunteered for the mission at Strivak's behest. He believed in what they were doing, as did the others who had put her onto this task.

"The pinnacle of their decadence," the Executor stated. His voice was partially synthesized, emanating from a device he wore at his neck. Otherwise, the low guttural growls and snarls that served as his people's language would have been lost on Serina. "They have been left alone for so long, they have entire cities devoted to their vices." He turned to her, and for a moment there Serina thought she sensed some contempt from him. It was apparent that his people saw themselves as better than the many humans who inhabited the galaxy. They made no secret of it, and their reasons for contacting her here were a means to an end. The same went for her end of the bargain, as in normal circumstances her people would never consider working with such a species. They were troublemakers, through-and-through, and had caused numerous conflicts in their corner of the galaxy over the last few centuries. Always attempting to expand their influence, the Executor's people had been mildly successful in subjugating a few star systems. From Serina's understanding, what the Field Marshall intended was something that had not been sanctioned by his government. He was acting as a rogue, one with many loyal followers.

"What do you care, really?" Serina asked him. "It's the Field Marshall who has his reasons. You, on the other hand, cannot possibly be as invested in this as he is."

"I am here at the behest of my commanding officer," the Executor countered. "He released me from my incarceration. I owe him a great deal. And even I can see the problems the humans of Earth present. I was not there, when the Field Marshall lead his infiltration attempt many solar cycles ago, but I can understand why he would want to follow up on it. The people of Earth, the 'Tau'ri' as you call it, have proven themselves to be a threat to the galaxy as a whole. They have attained technology far out of the league of any other species, and their star-ships are capable of obliterating worlds to an extent even the Goa'uld were not capable of."

"It's risky, meeting like this."

"There are risks with everything." He pulled a small, disc-shaped device from his waist. It had been attached to his outer biomechanical armour, and he held it out towards Serina. "This will ensure far more efficient communication between us, over the subspace frequencies. Encrypted, of course, so even those who eavesdrop will be unable to determine the nature of the messages."

Serina had expected as much. She took the device, finding its hardened, shell-like feel a little disconcerting. Such a device had been grown, rather than built. These aliens favoured such organic technology, even if much of it was somewhat disgusting in Serina's view. Even Strivak did not like it much, no matter how technologically sopshisticated it might have all been.

"In a few short months, Earth will be a very different place." The Executor directed his attention back towards the city. It was nearly impossible to determine what he was thinking just from his face alone, although Serina thought that he might have been awe-struck. Not towards the city itself, rather the prospect of doing something to change it, and the planet as a whole, in a grand, overarching way.

"These people live in ignorance of their place in the galaxy," the Executor added. "We will change that. And it will drive these people into a chaotic slide, such that they will tear each other apart." He turned to her again, his voice taking on a much harder tone. "Do you know what you must do?"

"I know." Serina did not need to be told twice. "But do not try and rush me. These things, they take time and a level of care that not even your people are capable of."

The remark might have offended the Executor, but if it had he did a good job of hiding it.

"I hope there are no doubts," he said.

"From me? None." Now she narrowed her eyes. "What about from you?"

"The Field Marshall is set in his goals." The Executor nodded his head as he spoke. "As for me? I will be sure to enjoy every moment of it."

* * *

April 2nd, 2022

In the present timeframe, Joanne once again found herself in the SGC briefing room, along with the rest of the team. This time around, they were joined by the middle-aged and balding man of the Tok'ra, Jarvell, who had stepped out of the stargate little more than ten minutes ago. Seated at the conference table, with the team gathered around, he had so far said enough in that short amount of time to stir up even Jack O'Neill. The retired General was standing by the window that looked down into the embarkation room, and his face was contorted into an irritated scowl as the Tok'ra continued speaking.

Now, Joanne had never met one of these Tok'ra before. Sure, she had read the reports about previous missions involving them. Opinions were mixed, when it came to those who had written the reports. One thing she had noticed, just from what she had read, was that the prevailing attitude towards the Tok'ra was one of distrust. Primarily from their end, as they did not appear to entirely trust the people of Earth and, in some way, blamed them for the deaths of many of their operatives during the fighting with the Goa'uld.

Jarvell seemed reasonable enough. He had told them that he was a higher-up in the Tok'ra hierarchy, being a member of some kind of ruling Council of theirs. The meeting today had been unplanned and was more of a response to an emergency than anything else.

"We only found this out earlier today," Jarvell explained. He was seated a little further down the table, away from everyone else. Occasionally, he would shoot an uneasy glance over at Valkas, who would return it with a grin that he no doubt intended to make the Tok'ra uneasy. Presumably, Jarvell had never run into a Calsharan before.

"One of your own is on Earth?" Janssen was at his spot at the head of the table, and he had so far listened to Jarvell carefully, keeping a neutral expression the entire time.

"A younger operative of ours," Jarvell said. "Serina, host to Strivak. The symbiote was always one of our more hardline types, as you might say." To his credit, the Tok'ra was doing a good job of hiding his anxiety, despite the many interrogative gazes directed his way. "And the host, Serina, comes from a troubled background. She saw her parents die during a Goa'uld attack on her home-world and took to fighting a guerrilla war against them from that point forwards. We found her after a raid her group had carried out, one that had left her with life-threatening injuries. We needed hosts, and she was willing to join with Strivak, if only to save her own life. I suspect it was a combination that, in hindsight, was unwise."

"Unwise?" Jack O'Neill shook his head. He turned around, settling his scowl upon Jarvell. Joanne could see, right away, that the retired General was harbouring all manner of negative feelings towards the Tok'ra, and that they were rising to the forefront now. "You people were always very good at understating things."

Jarvell did his best to ignore Jack as he continued.

"There has been some discontent among the ruling Council in recent years," he continued. "Especially in regard to your people, the people of Earth. Some of us, to put it simply, see you as a threat."

"How so?" Janssen spoke carefully, face inquisitive. He simply wanted to know more and, unlile Jack, was not passing any judgment. Joanne noticed John's frown as he heard Jarvell's latest statement, and it occurred to her that he had heard such sentiments before. He had said as much, when he had spoken of what Cassalis had told him.

"Some of us believe that you have attained far too much in far too short a time." Jarvell spoke carefully, choosing his words with a deliberation that suggested he was doing all he could to avoid adding to an already volatile situation. The man had been saddled with a thankless task, and despite the careful control that came with being a statesman, there were a few telltale hints that he was uncomfortable here. The careful manner of his speech indicated as much, and the occasional shift where he sat also suggested discomfort.

"Not too long ago, you were incapable of interstellar travel. Yet now, you have several powerful vessels at your disposal, fitted with technology that is more powerful than that of the Goa'uld. Not to mention certain other things, among them the city of the Ancients. Is it true that it presides somewhere under your dominion?"

There was a long pause. Janssen was clearly debating with himself as to how much he should tell, while John suddenly appeared much more glum than usual. Joanne had read about Atlantis, but she had so far found no real information as to its current whereabouts. If anyone were to know, it would be Janssen, as even John Sheppard had not set foot on the city for several years.

"I will take the uneasy silence as confirmation," Jarvell said, finally. "You must understand, my people have only survived as long as they have through significant caution. We see a threat, even a potential one, and we will act to remove it, even if it takes some time to do so."

"Is that why you have someone on Earth?" Joanne was the one to ask this. She felt she should say something, as the situation was beginning to get far larger than anything she had faced before.

"The Council did not sanction her presence here," Jarvell replied. "There are, however, a select few individual members of the Council who have been pushing for action to be taken against your people, a means of keeping you in check, as some believe that you are becoming far too powerful for a species still relatively new to the galactic stage. Some of my associates intercepted a few encrypted communications recently, and it was only earlier today that we finally decrypted them. That is why I'm here, because one of our agents is on Earth, acting against your best interests at the behest of a select few renegades on our Council."

"What's her plan?" Jack asked. He continued to pace by the conference table, restless. "What can one Tok'ra do here?"

"All manner of things, I'm afraid." Jarvell's voice took on a more serious tone. "With the technology at her disposal, she could attain sensitive information pertaining to your military operations. All it would take is some careful systems hacks, utilising devices not of this world. And with a trained operative doing it, the likelihood of her being discovered is slim."

"You're saying she's hacked us?" Janssen asked. "Is she the one who took out our communications?"

Jarvell shook his head.

"No, I'm afraid not. Had it been her, then the situation here would be much simpler. I am not only concerned because we have a rogue agent acting against an ally, but also because she acts in unison with an alien power. A people we have encountered only in passing, but one we consider to be a growing threat in the galaxy." There was a pause, and Joanne had a feeling she knew what he was referring to. She glanced at Valkas, who was seated on her left, and he returned the look with one slightly quirked brow-ridge. They were both thinking the same thing.

"What alien power?" John leaned forwards then, curious. "Because I've got a few in mind as possibilities."

"We don't have a name for them," Jarvell said. "But they are a militaristic species that use semi-organic technology. Our intelligence reports have gathered that our operative, Serina, was put into contact with them and is, in fact, working with them to subvert this world. A mass terrorist attack, intent on sowing chaos across your planet."

"It's already started," Janssen added.

"Yes, and it will only get worse." Jarvell paused, as he considered what else to add. He had said what he needed and was probably eager to leave. He wanted to avoid the fallout, so being amongst the very people who were going to be screwed over by this rogue operative was the one place he did not want to be.

"Do you have anything more than that?" Janssen eyed Jarvell carefully. "Any information you can give us, to help us put a stop to her and these aliens?"

Jarvell seemed disappointed as he shook his head.

"I wish I did," Jarvell said. "But I only came here to pass on what I had found out, which is not much. Someone has to try and salvage this alliance, however strained it has become. Some of my people may not be particularly grateful to those of the Tau'ri, but I personally, and my symbiote, know that things would be far worse had it not been for the actions of your people. The Tok'ra have their own home-world now, which not too long ago would have been unthinkable. It only seems right to tell you of the threat against yours."

"And we're all very grateful." Janssen did sound genuinely thankful, even if what they had learned was not all that much. Just how much better off were they now than they had been twenty minutes ago?

"Is that all?" Jack was still annoyed. He glared at Jarvell with intense eyes, and the Tok'ra did his best to brush off the piercing look. "You come here just to tell us how screwed we are? Because we could have worked that out ourselves."

"I say we get to Area 51," John interjected, his focus shifting to General Janssen. "I want to be there to put an end to these aliens. And if we find this rogue Tok'ra operative, we'll take her alive. Hand her back to Jarvell here."

The Tok'ra nodded in agreement.

"That would be the preferred option," he said.

"And that's only if we can take her alive," John continued. "Because it sounds as if she's pretty set on what she's doing."

Janssen appeared to consider this carefully. Joanne could tell that the General was a man with the weight of the world on his shoulders, and in a way this was true. With communications down, they were the only people here who really knew the full extent of what was going on, or at least had a better idea about it than anyone else. The soldiers going to Area 51 to respond to the intrusion would be walking into the situation without a proper idea of what they were facing, and everyone in this room knew how dangerous that could be.

Valkas was the one to speak next, even if he was perhaps the one person here with the least stakes in the matter. After all, he was not of this world, and at the end of the day what was happening at Area 51 was not necessarily his problem. At least, not immediately, but he was a member of the team. And despite everything, he appeared to smile then, in his own toothy way. Joanne saw this and could not help but smirk herself, despite how inappropriate it seemed at that time.

"If we're going to face these guys," Valkas said, drawing the attention of everyone in the room, "Then we're going to need guns. A whole lot of them."

* * *

Somewhere in the far reaches of space, on board the flagship of the Calsharan fleet, the _Sword of Calshara_, a certain Sergeant Natalia Tarasovna found herself opening her eyes in a location she was unfamiliar with. Bright white lights shone into her eyes from the ceiling above, and she could feel a dull ache in her upper back as well as her left leg. Slowly, she sat up and rubbed at her eyes, taking away the hardened sleep matter that had built up in their corners. She realised that she was dressed in a loose-fitting grey gown, barefoot and with nothing else on underneath. That gave her the rather awkward thought that whoever had put her here had stripped her naked before throwing this flimsy gown upon her; then again, it probably did not matter so much now. One thing she did notice about the room was how warm it was, certainly more so than her previous accommodations in the ship's cellblock.

The room itself was sparse and grey, with about four more similar beds inside, each one accompanied by a large terminal of sorts where a holographic display was suspended. Some kind of metal device was fitted to her neck, stuck on with a cool-feeling gel, and with one hand she reached for it and pulled it away. As soon as she did that, the display next to her flashed red, and a beeping noise sounded that echoed throughout the room. At a glance, she suspected that this place was an infirmary, a medical bay of sorts. She would have been correct in this assumption, the only question was why she was here, now, given the kind of hospitality she had so far received from her captors.

That was when she noticed the curious lack of pain from her wounded leg. Sure, it ached, a dull throbbing that was more akin to a headache than anything else. Yet there was none of the sharp, stabbing pain she had felt when she had tried walking on it earlier, during the fight in the hangar. Somewhat gingerly, she tried bending the knee. She tensed herself for the pain she was sure would come, but none did. Instead, the ache remained, a lingering after-effect of the bullet she had caught in the knee-cap. The knee, however, felt good as new. She had no problem bending it up all the way, before relaxing it down flat again. This surprised her, as she had known full well that her leg wound would essentially cripple her for good. The best she had expected was a leg-brace, so to see it seemingly unharmed now was mind-blowing.

She pulled up the gown to take a look at the knee itself. There was a scar there, light as it was, but otherwise little other trace that she had ever taken a bullet. That was not the end of it, of course; there was the niggling fact that she had been unconscious for some time, and that she distinctly remembered getting shot in the back. That had been what had put her under, and she was quick to put a hand up through the back of her gown to where she had taken the blast. Again, there was nothing there but a light scar, one she could feel under her fingers. The wound was healed, just like the one at her leg.

The door of the infirmary slid open then. She jumped back suddenly, upon seeing the burly, uniformed figure standing in the door. The beeping at the machine had ceased upon his entering, and she found herself looking upon the same Calsharan who had paid a visit to the cellblock earlier, when she had been locked up. He looked similar to Valkas, and was dressed in a bulky black uniform that appeared to have some kind of armoured padding at the chest region. His yellow eyes surveyed her curiously, as he strode inside, booted feet clomping resoundly upon the floor. The door slid shut behind him, and he made his way up alongside her, quirking one brow-ridge at her curious display of fear.

"I am the last person you should fear," he stated, as he stopped by the bed. Natalia looked about the room for anything that might pass as a weapon. She supposed she should have expected to find nothing of the sort, as the room had seemingly been stripped of any loose items. The Calsharan eyed her curiously, and she could feel his yellow eyes scrutinising her carefully. "You were near death when we got to you. We were able to heal your wounds and keep your condition stable. Interestingly, your human bodies react to certain medical technologies better than our own. I suspect that it is all the more reason the Goa'uld favour your species as hosts."

"Who are you?" Natalia felt exposed, and in some ways she was. Alone, in an open room, face-to-face with the enemy with no weapons within reach. She noticed that this Calsharan was unarmed, a likely precaution so that she did not end up making a go for any weapon, his in particular.

"I am Lieutenant Toron Kavellan," the Calsharan said. "You might know my younger brother, Valkas?"

The surname she recognized. Valkas had the same one, so it certainly checked out that the two were related.

"Where are the others?" Natalia remembered the firefight in the hangar vividly, up until the point she had been shot. After that, nothing, save for the odd flash of memory that likely stemmed from whatever dreams she had experienced while under.

"They are gone," Toron explained. "They escaped aboard the Goa'uld bomber we found you all in."

They had left her behind? That was unlike John Sheppard, or anyone else from the SGC. The chaos in the hangar had been such that things had happened quickly, and in a way she could understand why she had been abandoned. At the same time, it angered her, albeit a futile anger that she knew would never gain her anything.

"I wouldn't be quick to blame your comrades," Toron added, as if sensing her anger. "They were surrounded, with only one way out. And, by all appearances, you were dead. And you would have died for sure, had I not sent you to this infirmary when I had."

"You saved my life." Natalia met his gaze, now hit with an uncertainty that had put the whole notion of the Calsharans being the 'bad guys' under a shadow of doubt. "Why?"

"Because I suspect it's the only way to avoid a much more volatile situation," Toron replied. His English was very good, although Natalia was not sure whether this was the work of whatever universal translation the stargate employed, or something that the Calsharan himself was using. "Your friends took our Commander, specifically Fleet Commander Cassalis. She is a powerful woman, and one who is known to hold grudges."

"She took us prisoner," Natalia countered. "I'd say we have all the reason in the world to dislike her."

"Perhaps." Toron pondered this for a moment. "She is, however, our Fleet Commander. The entire Calsharan Naval Fleet answers to her, and she in turn answers to the military high command itself. She was acting on orders to incarcerate any alien forces suspected of being a threat to our people, and your team fell within that category. Your presence at Ra's fortress, and your knowledge of the place, also made you more valuable as prisoners. You have to understand, we were dispatched to find that fortress ourselves and follow up on the missing reconnaissance team. The same team my brother, Valkas, had been a part of. To find your team fleeing from what remained of that fortress sparked our interest, as did the presence of my brother."

"So, it was just a case of 'wrong place, wrong time'?" Natalia shook her head. It all seemed a little convenient to her. At the same time, it was not impossible. The same kind of convenience that had brought the Field Marshall and his people down upon them shortly before they tried escaping the fortress; as if the universe itself was playing with her, and the rest of her team.

"You could put it that way," Toron replied. He narrowed his eyes slightly, as if curious about something. "You have an accent unlike the others in your team."

"You noticed?" Natalia smiled, despite herself. "I'm not from where they're from, on my world. That said, I've spent enough time where they're from to lose most of the accent." Thinking about it now, she wondered if she would ever see Earth again. What would they do to her, now that she was here?

"At the moment, I am in command of this vessel," Toron said. "That makes you my responsibility. I intend to keep you alive, despite all the trouble your team has caused. Several of my soldiers were killed at the hands of your team, and several more would very much like to take out their anger upon one of the humans responsible."

"You're not going to kill me, though," Natalia said. "You wouldn't have healed my wounds if you were going to do that."

Toron nodded his head.

"You are correct." He paused, tilting his head slightly. "What was your name?"

She realised that she had not even told him who she was. At this point, giving that slight piece of information was unlikely to cause any harm to Earth's security.

"Sergeant Natalia Tarasovna," she stated. "And I'm sorry about your soldiers, not that the apology's worth much. But you gave us no choice."

"Perhaps. But I suspect that keeping you alive might help in things to come." With one hand, he motioned towards a set of units on the wall, not unlike taps. "If you need water, there is plenty available. I will have something for you to eat sent shortly. Of course, I doubt you will find our nutrient pastes palatable."

Natalia realised now why Valkas had taken to human cuisine so readily. What his people lived on did not sound appealing at all.

"Am I stuck in here?" She asked him.

"For now, you will be detained in the infirmary," Toron said. "Perhaps later, I can work out an arrangement, however limited it may be, to give you better accommodations. First and foremost, I want you alive. And that means keeping you under observation."

"You're worried about your Commander," Natalia said. "About what she'll do, if she ever gets loose."

There was a noticeable pause then, as Toron's usually level expression faltered ever so slightly. Here was a man caught between a rock and a hard place; at one end, he had to follow the orders of his superiors, no matter what they may be. On the other, he saw a way out of a volatile situation that likely did not sit well with those very superiors. Natalia was not sure, but she felt that somewhere under that hardened military exterior was a good man, even if said man was nearly seven feet tall, highly muscular and covered in scales.

"It's not her I worry about," Toron replied. He appeared distracted as he said this, and Natalia was left wondering exactly what he meant as he did not elaborate further. With that said, he gave her a curt nod before turning around and walking for the door. Natalia was left alone once again, as soon as he was out. It was not so much the environment she had found herself in that worried her now; more so, it was the fact that she was going to be very, very _bored_.


	39. Before the Storm

**Before the Storm  
**April 2nd, 2022

It was the first decent meal that Joanne had eaten since returning to Earth. It was also one she needed to eat fairly quickly, as John wanted the team ready to leave within the next half hour. A plane was being prepared at Petersen Air Force Base to take them out to Nevada, something that had been arranged using an old telegraph machine and Morse code. With the phones out, it had become far more difficult to organize anything, and just about every plane in the country had been grounded. Even the televisions were not working, as Joanne had soon found out upon entering the mess hall. One of the airmen here was flicking through the many channels, finding either blank black (or blue) screens, or still images informing the viewer of 'technical difficulties'. Joanne wondered what it was like, out in the streets of the major cities. How much chaos was this causing, not to mention the alien broadcast that had preceded the shutdown? Conspiracy theories would no doubt be running wild, although with the Internet out of working order even those would be having difficulty getting around.

Joanne picked out her food before she seated herself down at a vacant table. Valkas joined her not long after, although the Calsharan had, as usual, piled his tray high with food. That included about five cheeseburgers, two steaks, three slices of cake and a one litre bottle of water. There were no vegetables amongst this all, save for the lettuce in the burgers. And the first thing he did when he sat down was start picking it out.

"That stuff's good for you," Joanne said, as she watched him do this. Valkas quirked one brow-ridge slightly, as if doubtful of this claim.

"We're carnivores, Joanne," he replied.

"My father's cat's a carnivore, but she still eats grass..."

"I don't need these leaves," Valkas stated, a little more firmly. He went to work on the next burger, lifting the bun off of the top before proceeding to pick off the lettuce.

"I think the more pressing concern, Valkas, is how you're going to eat all that before we have to leave?"

Valkas gave a light shrug.

"I'll manage," he replied. The handful of personnel scattered around the mess hall kept looking his way, some staring longer than might have been polite. Obviously, none of them had seen a Calsharan eating dinner before. Well, it was more like a 'mid-afternoon snack', as it was not even three o'clock in the afternoon yet.

Joanne began eating in earnest. Valkas did the same, in his own ravenous manner, chomping down on the first of the cheeseburgers in such a way he essentially stuffed half of the whole thing into his mouth with one bite. It was not the tidiest way to eat, as evident by the way in which sauce and grease trickled down his chin. To his credit, Valkas was quick to wipe it away with a napkin, so he was not entirely like a Neanderthal in his eating habits.

"I'd say this is as good a time as any," Joanne said, as she watched the Calsharan continue eating. He frowned at her, as he polished off the first of the burgers.

"For what?"

"To talk about you. And me. More specifically, what happened on that bomber between us."

Valkas wiped his mouth clean again, and she thought she saw the hint of a smile at his lips.

"You mean when you were about to kiss me?" He remarked. He spoke a little louder than what Joanne would have preferred, and a few heads turned their way. Joanne felt herself get a little red in the cheeks, and she leaned forwards, keeping her own voice low.

"Keep it down," she muttered. "Are you always this blunt?"

"My parents raised me to be honest," Valkas replied. "Didn't yours?"

"I thought you said you didn't get along with your parents."

"I didn't. But they still raised me." Valkas bit down into another one of the burgers, chewing rapidly. Despite this, he still managed to speak between mouthfuls. "I'll tell you right now, whatever was going to happen between us isn't an issue with me. If anything, you're the one who has the problem with it."

"Because it's improper." Joanne felt a little akward, talking about it in such a way. "Team members aren't supposed to do that sort of thing."

"You humans seem very stuck up about it," Valkas countered. "Where I'm from, there aren't any real rules about it. Some believe it even enhances team cohesion."

Joanne frowned. She was not sure whether to believe this or not, as Valkas' grin seemed to suggest that he was pulling her leg. Team cohesion? If anything, it sounded like the sort of thing that would only get in the way of team cohesion.

"We do things a little different on Earth," she said.

"I noticed." For someone who had essentially rendered himself unable to ever return home again, he seemed remarkably jovial. Perhaps it was a coping mechanism, or perhaps he really did not care as much as Joanne thought he might. Valkas had made his decision when he had decided to help them and tell them all about his mission and Ra's fortress; he had known that doing so would have him marked as a traitor amongst his people, who were, in Joanne's view, definitely extreme in the sense that they were so ready to have him offed.

"Besides, you're not…" Joanne trailed off. She did not wish to offend him. Valkas picked up on what she was referring to right away.

"Human?" Valkas gave a light shrug. "Does that matter? We're still very much alike. Even compatible."

"Compatible?" Joanne had a good idea what he was referring to, and she found herself flushing red again. "How can you be so sure?"

Valkas paused as he wiped his mouth again with his napkin. He was smirking once more, his eyes suggesting that he knew more than he was letting on.

"I did some research," he replied. "Your 'Internet' has information on many subjects."

Joanne swallowed. This conversation had taken a turn into territory she had not been prepared for.

"Yeah, I'm sure it does." She figured she best get on with her eating, as they had little more than twenty minutes to report to Colonel Sheppard. Picking up her burger, she took a tentative bite into it, surprised by the generally decent taste. Military food was not always this good.

"Which is to say, Joanne, that if you ever want to follow through with what you intended back on that bomber, I'm more than open to it." He sounded so sure of himself, so smug, cocky even. And Joanne, despite her usually confident demeanour, found herself feeling far more awkward than she was used to. He was just so blasé about it; she was not sure to find it funny or worrying.

"Or not. It's up to you, Captain." He added this part with another light shrug. Joanne wanted to slap him, if only to wipe that smug look off of his vaguely reptilian face. Yet she could not bring herself to do so, as there was something amusing about his whole demeanour. He might have been a bit cocky, but it was in such a way that Joanne found it a little endearing. There was no denying that he had proven himself out in the field, when they had been at Ra's fortress, and then on the Calsharan warship. He had pulled through for the team more than once, and he had showed genuine concern for her. He cared; Joanne could see this much. Here and now, he simply tried to brush it all off as something casual, but deep-down Joanne was sure that he would be disappointed if she did not 'follow through'.

That was something she was not about to decide anytime soon. Valkas would have to wait for her final decision. This whole situation was surreal, as thinking about an alien in this regard was one thing she had never expected she would ever have to do. Then again, she had never known they had existed until about six months ago. To be seated here, eating lunch with one, had been unthinkable until recently.

"I'll think about it," she said simply. Valkas gave her a nod, but otherwise resumed eating. They both ate quietly for a minute or two, before Joanne spoke up again.

"You really like it here, don't you?"

"What do you mean?"

"Living on Earth. You really do enjoy it."

"I haven't got much choice," Valkas said. "I can't go home, so it seemed best for my health to make myself at home here."

"It's not just that, isn't it? You're probably living better here than you did back home."

Valkas did not reply straight away. He instead used his knife to cut into a piece of steak, taking a sizeable portion up onto his fork before cramming it into his mouth. Joanne watched him, waiting for an answer.

"It's not just that." Valkas gulped down the meat with ease. "I might have been a bit of a rebel back home. I told you that, didn't I? I don't agree with what my people are doing."

"They're mobilising. That's what Cassalis told Sheppard."

"I didn't expect they'd be doing it so rapidly." Valkas shook his head. "Anyone who gets in the way of the Calsharan military is going to be put down, I know that much. No matter what species they might be." His voice had taken on a much more serious tone, and the overall mood at the table had changed perceptibly. Now Joanne figured was as good a time as any to voice the main concern many on the base now had.

"Are your people going to be a threat?"

Not exactly lunch table conversation, but it was the big question, and no doubt one General Janssen had been pondering when he was not focussed on the more pressing crisis. Valkas paused, chewing on a piece of steak, as he considered the question and the implications that were brought with it. He knew she wanted to hear a definite negative, yet the look on his face suggested that he knew she would not like his honest reply but at the same time, he did not wish to deceive her.

"I wish I could say they won't be," he replied. "But that would be a lie."

* * *

The armoury in the bowels of the SGC was packed to the brim with just about every piece of modern military hardware a man could carry, and then some. Colonel Sheppard was down here, readying up for the trip over to Nevada. He was surrounded by racks of guns, cabinets and crates full of explosives and other, similar equipment. In a way, it was perhaps his favourite room in the place, made all the more so by the fact that the SGC received the newest, fanciest stuff far sooner than any other place in the country (outside of the weapons manufacturing plants themselves, of course). John, outfitted in a sand-coloured set of fatigues, had turned his attention to the armoury quartermaster, who stood behind a counter at one end of the room. Behind him, a whole other section where some of the more specialised items were kept.

The quartermaster himself was outfitted in typical Marines fatigues and appeared to be well into his forties. Gunery Sergeant Everett Sherman was a man of broad stature, with crew-cut light brown hair and somewhat weathered features that suggested frequent outdoor exposure. According to what John had heard, the man had been working down here for a number of years, handling the weapons and supplies for outgoing SG teams. John had run into similar types in the past, the kind of men who had the same love for things that went 'bang' as he did.

"Colonel Sheppard," Sherman announced, as the Colonel stopped at the other side of the counter. "You heading off to sort out the latest crisis?"

John did not know the man personally, but from the way he greeted him it appeared Sherman knew him. John looked past the man, at the racks on the wall behind him and the various staff weapons, zat'ni'katels and even Wraith staff weapons on display.

"How did you guess?" John asked. He leaned forwards, almost conspiratorially, and Sherman leaned in a little in return. "I need something that'll put just about anyone down, no question. No matter their size, but it needs to be portable. Small, like a pistol."

"You mean a hand cannon?" Sherman nodded his head.

"I lost my .45 off-world," John said.

"You want something bigger?"

"Just how much bigger are we talking?" Now John was intrigued. He had carried the same P-14 .45 pistol throughout much of his time in Atlantis, before he had returned to his older M1911A1 after being relieved from the Atlantis expedition. Naturally, getting captured by the Field Marshall had seen him lose that reliable side-arm.

"One of the officers around here had this brought in on special order," Sherman said. He turned around and went for one of the locked metal cabinets at the back of the room. Keys in hand, he opened the door and pulled out an unassuming leather case. Taking it back to the counter, he set it down before John. "Unfortunately for him, the recent alien intruders killed him."

"I'm sorry to hear that." The clean-up was still in progress around the base, and it was unlikely the blast marks and bullet-holes would get patched up anytime soon. The quartermaster popped open the case, turning it around so that John could look upon what was inside. It was a large, chrome revolver, with a barrel that had to be well over six inches. A box of bullets was next to it, set within a cutout in the black foam interior. As for the weapon itself, it certainly counted as a side-arm, but the sheer size of it indicated it was probably a little more than a simple backup weapon.

"Smith and Wesson 500," the quartermaster said. "It cost a pretty penny to get in here, and the bullets aren't cheap either."

"Sounds like you want to keep it yourself," John remarked. He picked up the unloaded gun, feeling its sturdy weight in his hands. Sure, it was heavier than most pistols he had held, but that was most certainly an indication of the power that was behind a shot from this thing.

"I already got one at home," the quartermaster replied. "It'd be a shame to let this thing gather dust in here, so I reckon you're going to need it far more than most people here. I've heard about you, Sheppard. A man with your standing deserves only the best."

John pushed open the rotating cylinder, cocking one brow slightly as he saw one very marked difference to what he was used to.

"It only holds five?"

"You'll only need one." The quartermaster picked one of the sizeable slugs out of the box within the case. "There's about thirty of these in the box. Probably more than you'll need, in all honesty." He paused, briefly, as he examined the bullet closely before placing it back into the box. "Now, you can have the entire package, Colonel, on one condition."

"What's that?"

"You put it to good use."

John smirked and proceeded to start loading the weapon. He stuffed the spare bullets into a pouch on his vest, before sliding the oversized revolver into his waist holster. Behind him, he heard footsteps as someone else entered the armoury, and he turned around to see Daniel wander in. He was already in a vest, and the archaeologist offered him a nod as he entered the room.

"Where's the Captain?" John asked him.

"On her way, I think." Daniel walked over to the rack of MPX submachine guns along the nearby wall. "Same goes with Valkas."

"They better hurry up," John said. "I don't want to be late. The longer we wait, the more trouble the Field Marshall causes over at Area 51. Not to mention all his friends running around the countryside."

"You think they're setting bombs?"

"More than likely. If you ask me, I think the Field Marshall came here with no exit strategy. He knows he'll get outnumbered and surrounded, but he's so consumed by vengeance he doesn't care. And someone who doesn't care if they live or die is more dangerous than those seeking to go on living." He walked up alongside Daniel, as he began to stuff spare magazines into the pouches on his vest. "You can take my word on that."

"I know what you mean." Daniel picked up one of the submachine guns, working the slide on it a few times to make sure all was going smoothly. For an archaeologist, he seemed very knowledgeable about guns. Such was the nature of the job, as he had no doubt picked up a thing or two over his years at the SGC.

"What do you make of this business with the Tok'ra?"

"You mean how one of their own is helping the Field Marshall?" Daniel gave a quick shake of his head. "I've dealt with the Tok'ra a number of times, just not for some years. They never did fully trust us, and it went both ways. The fact that some of them see us as a threat isn't a surprise, really."

"It was nice of them to let us know," John remarked. "It's not as if they were late, or anything."

Daniel gave him a half-smile that more or less said, 'what can we do about it?' And, of course, the answer to that question was 'absolutely nothing'. All they could do was react in turn to the threat at hand, which in John's eyes was too late a response to begin with.

"And to think, I was enjoying my road-trip," John said.

"What do you mean?"

"I was tearing down the highways, seeing where'd they take me, before they dragged me back into this. I wasn't going to say no to the job offer, but after all that's happened now, I figure I might have done better by staying home."

"Maybe. But then the Field Marshall would still be here, and you'd be oblivious to the whole situation. Which may or may not be a good thing, it depends how you look at it."

"Yeah, and now the whole world's anything but oblivious. How do you think that's going to go down?"

Daniel's worried glance said plenty.

"Not well," he stated. Not that it mattered much now, when no one on the planet could even make a simple phone call. Sure, there were probably people working to sort out that problem, but the kind of chaos that was likely occurring in the outside world…It seemed odd, to be standing here having this conversation when the world as a whole could be falling into complete anarchy. John liked to think that society was not so fragile, even though he knew full well how utterly naïve a thought that was. Such attempts at optimism, on his part, never seemed to work out.

"How long until we leave?" Daniel asked him.

"About fifteen minutes." John checked his watch. "I'm going to make one last stop before we leave."

"Where are you going?"

"I want to pay a visit to our friends in the stockade." John clipped the revolver into his waist holster, ensuring that it was secure.

"Aithris could be useful," Daniel said. John quirked an eyebrow. "You know, the big blue guy? There's a lot he could tell us."

"About his crusade against some unknown enemy?" John gave a shrug. "I don't know about that, Daniel."

"But we can't just leave him locked up."

"I'm sure we can sort something out for him," John replied. "Just not now. We got bigger fish to fry."

Daniel might have argued the point a little further, but even he knew that the Colonel was right. Whatever help the alien 'nomad' might have been, they simply did not have the time to fully question him. John, on the other hand, could see right away that there was more going on here than even their current predicament could tell them. The Tok'ra were involved, as had been recently discovered, so things truly were not all they seemed.

Daniel nodded in acknowledgement, even if he did not appear fully convinced. With that settled, John turned and left the room. He made his way through the corridors to one of the elevators, and from there he went to Level 16, which housed the main 'stockade' for the SGC. There was a guard standing outside the door to the cellblock, and he gave John a curt nod as the Colonel went by him and entered the stockade itself. Here, in opposite cells, were the two aliens that his team had gathered from their latest venture.

Aithris, to his credit, appeared to be making the best of his time. He was doing push-ups on the floor of his cell, his hooded jacket laid neatly upon the bed. He had been wearing a sort of brown-leather vest underneath, and his muscular arms were bare and had a size to them that put Sheppard's own to shame. As John entered, Aithris ceased his activities and rose to his feet, red eyes scanning the Colonel with a mix of curiosity and uncertainty. Across the corridor, in the opposite cell, Fleet Commander Cassalis was seated on her bunk, her yellow eyes creased into a look of sheer contempt. Unlike Aithris, she could not do much in the way of exercise, given her wounded leg.

"Colonel Sheppard," she said aloud, as he neared her cell. "To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?"

John walked up to the bars of her cell and frowned. He had come to dislike the Fleet Commander greatly, for obvious reasons. Still, there was something he had to know, something he needed to be certain of.

"Are your people going to come for you?" He asked her.

"For me? Maybe. But I suspect it would be too much trouble to launch a rescue mission. Instead, they might see my abduction as an act of war. Instead of a rescue, they could easily launch an invasion. Why?" She sounded so sure of herself, so smug. It irked John to no end.

"Your people are mobilising." John figured that he was breaking some rules, questioning the prisoner himself here and now, but he had to be sure before he left. Heading out to tackle an alien incursion brought with it all sorts of danger, and he did not want to die before knowing what he could expect from the latest bunch of aliens they had run into.

"Valkas said you were only starting to do that recently." John continued, keeping his voice level, all while trying to piece together the details in his mind. "Why?"

"I have superiors, same as you do, Colonel." Cassalis turned her head, electing to watch the wall instead. She leaned back, as if attempting to relax. "I do not ask them too many questions. I do what I'm told, same as you."

"There's something out there, isn't there?" John asked. He had to wonder just how much crazier things could get, between the Field Marshall, the Calsharans, the Tok'ra and now something else. "That's why you're mobilising. Because you know."

"They've known for centuries." Aithris spoke up from his cell, and John swiveled around to watch him. At that moment, the door of the brig opened, and Daniel walked inside. He gave John a curious glance, wondering why he was down here.

"Any answers?" He asked the Colonel.

"About as many as you'd expect." John looked between the Fleet Commander and the Nomad, unsure of just who he should listen to, and how much of what they said he should believe. Aithris was an unknown quality here, whereas Cassalis was at least honest with her intentions.

"The Calsharan people as a whole may not know the details," Aithris added. "But those in their government, most especially of all their secretive cabals, would know. I'm afraid the Fleet Commander may not have been given the details you seek, Colonel Sheppard."

"It's the 'great enemy'," Daniel said, as he stepped into the middle of the conversation.

"Have you got a name for them?" John asked.

"They have one," Aithris replied. "But it is very long and very difficult to pronounce. A long time ago, three powerful races united to fight them. The Calsharans, my people and a third race. My people are all but gone now, and as for that third species, I believe they have hit their own serious problems. The reason the Calsharans are as extremely militant as they are is because of this enemy, for they fear its return, and they know that it is returning. That something in the darkest tracts of this galaxy stirs, and there is very little that can be done to stop it."

John did not believe it, not entirely. He needed more than ominous statements to go on. That, and time was not exactly on their side.

"That's why you want our help," John said. "Because the Calsharans can't do it alone."

"We've done it alone for centuries," Cassalis interjected. She sounded insulted. "We'll continue to do it alone, without the help of any humans."

John ignored her. Daniel sidled up to Aithris' cell, no doubt very interested by what the 'Nomad' was saying.

"An alliance of three species," Daniel said. "And it was, what? A thousand years ago?"

"Thereabouts." Aithris nodded. "Three _space-faring_ species. It would appear that the great enemy has no interest in those races incapable of interstellar travel. Only those with hyperspace technology, and an understanding of the stargate network."

"Could you show us a picture of one of them?" John asked. It was a stab in the dark, but he needed something, _anything_ he could go on that was more than a foreboding statement from an alien they had known for less than a day.

"There are no visual records," Aithris said. "At least, not from my people." He saw the way in which John's face fell, his level gaze replaced with one of doubt. "Those higher-up in the Calsharan government likely have such records. As for myself, I have an old poem, passed on through the generations since that conflict. It loses something of its rhythm in your language, but I can recite it for you nevertheless."

"Go on," Daniel said, before John could say otherwise.

"In your language, it goes something like this:_ From beyond our reaches the scourge comes; Casting shadow upon our stars; Sowing chaos wherever they tread; With peace only to be found among the dead._"

There was a long silence after this, as both John and Daniel absorbed the words and what they could possibly mean. If anything, taking care of the Field Marshall was only going to be the start of it.


	40. State of Emergency

**State of Emergency  
**April 2nd, 2022

The Field Marshall had been sitting pretty inside the central control hub of Area 51. The humans had been foolish enough to network pretty much everything they had, with Area 51 being one of several similar sites in the United States that were tapped directly into the global communications network. That included the Internet, satellites and the like. Sure, it had been protected with firewalls and all manner of protocols. However, the Tollan scientist had given them enough know-how to workaround or outright bypass these security measures quickly and efficiently, essentially opening to their intruding alien presence the entirety of human knowledge stored on their many computer networks.

The Field Marshall stood by one of the main terminals whilst one of his subordinates worked at it, downloading as much of the more useful information as they possibly could onto a small, semi-organic palm-sized computer. About five other soldiers were scattered around the main hub, keeping watch on the entrances. Surveillance feeds were displayed on a number of smaller screens before the Field Marshall, some of the corridors around the room, and others from the surface. Human forces were gathering around the base's perimeter, although none had ventured into the underground levels since the toxic gas had been released. It appeared that, for now, they were sitting back and waiting. As for the large, wall-mounted screens at the end of the room, the maps of the Earth had been replaced with alien symbols and data readouts. The virus had worked quickly, and from this central nexus it had disrupted every piece of networked technology in the country, and in turn had worked its way across the rest of the globe far faster than the Field Marshall had anticipated. Sure, there would be people all over trying to fix the problem and it would only be a matter of time before someone came up with a workaround, but for now the entire planet was in turmoil. The humans would tear each other apart, all the more so now that they had some idea of the truth about their place in the universe.

The Tok'ra operative, Serina, had been standing quietly nearby for much of the time that they had been in here. She probably felt unnecessary, and in a way, she was. She had been little more than a means to an end, a way for the Field Marshall to attain the information he needed to launch an effective attack on Earth. For now, though, she might still have her uses. It was likely that she and the parasite in her head were pondering how best to double-cross them, or at the very least ensure their own safety. The Field Marshall fully expected a betrayal from her kind at some point. For now, he would keep a close eye on her.

His subordinate, working the main terminal, called for his attention. The Field Marshall came over, eyes falling upon the palm-computer and the information that had been attained. It was what they had come for; schematics of Earth-built ships, alien technologies that the humans had found over the years and just about every report written pertaining to the stargate or any other off-world activities the Earthers had committed during the years they had made use of the stargate. All information that could be used against them, once it got sent back home. His government would soon recognize the legitimacy of his mission here, when they received this treasure-trove.

There was something else, however. That was why his subordinate had called him over. They were still sorting through the data, and it would take further time to properly attain and decrypt all of it, but there was an added layer of security protecting the latest information packets. He saw some of it, as it was decrypted; terms such as 'Broadsword' and 'surveillance'. Not to mention something called the 'Inner Circle'. As he read more of it, it occurred to him that it was not just the existence of aliens and the stargate that the human governments had hidden from their people. Powers were at work on this planet that sought to exert influence over the population in such ways that put his government to shame.

In essence, the information here was all very, very fascinating. And just about all of it would prove useful, he was sure of it.

* * *

Las Vegas was a city that never slept. Twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, the city was a hub of activity. Its location, smack-bang in the middle of the desert, would have seemed odd to some, yet even this did not keep it from fulfilling its deservedly 'wild' reputation. It was past ten o'clock at night, with the work day well over and the nightlife in full swing. Every building here was adorned with numerous flashing lights, with multitudes of colours and screens adorned with repetitive moving images.

To the Executor, the city was a hive of human decadence and confirmation of their complacency in the galaxy. Ever since their networks had shut down, he had seen firsthand the growing unease on the streets. Sure, traffic moved like it always had, and people milled aboutt the streets the same way they often did, but there was an underlying anxiety to it all. People were trying their hardest to keep on pretending as if everything was normal, despite the obvious signs that the situation was anything but. Phones did not work, emergency services were in disarray and crowds had begun to form in parts of the city as people began looking for answers. Demanding them, even, which had in turn brought out a sizeable police presence. Similar scenes played out in cities all over the country, even the world as a whole; some parts of the world would have been affected worse than others, and for all intents and purposes, the USA was ground zero.

It irked the Executor that he had to use the holographic disguises, but for this stage of the proceedings it was a necessity. Showing themselves for what they really were would only bring down the wrath of the entire country's military, and it was far too soon to create that kind of chaos. For now, they wanted to simply 'encourage' the increasingly volatile situation. Where crowds were forming and the authorities were disorganized, there were opportunities to be had.

Getting hold of the police car had not been difficult. With the right kind of disguise, one could get hold of just about anything. The Executor was seated in the passenger seat of the so-called police cruiser, one of his subordinates working the steering wheel with surprising finesse. The human vehicles were not difficult to drive, certainly, but the 'road rules' were a whole other beast entirely. So far, they had managed to avoid any real suspicion by sticking to the correct side of the road, although the growing traffic as they neared the central 'Vegas Strip' was beginning to slow them down.

The Executor glanced at his reflection in the mirror. He was disgusted by the sight of the unassuming, balding human male he appeared as, outfitted in the uniform of an officer of the law. The same went for his subordinate, who appeared as a somewhat younger officer. Generated visages utilising a randomised selection of facial variables, they were not tied to any particular living human and as such they would not be able to properly play the part of knowledgeable police officers. There were no telepathic devices here, just a simple external change of appearance. They did not need to know the part, per se, they simply had to _look_ it.

The Field Marshall's broadcast might have spurred some humans on to becoming a little more violent, a little more frightened, when faced with the knowledge that their governments had been lying to them for many years. As the pair drove along, the Executor sighted a civilian being chased down by a police officer, having made off with some goods looted from a shop. Still, at a glance there was nothing outright out of the ordinary, at least at this early stage. The longer the telecommunications were down, the more volatile things would become, that much was apparent.

It was outside one of the more lavish casinos that the Executor had his subordinate bring the police car to a halt. There was a sizeable crowd here, moving in and out of the casino. Much of the Strip was also similarly busy, so here was as good a place as any.

As soon as they stopped, a human male ran up to their car and knocked on the window. The Executor eyed him with some disdain as he lowered the wind, making eye contact with the worried middle-aged male.

"What the hell's going on?" The man demanded. "Phones aren't working, landlines are scrambled. People are beginning to get scared."

The Executor turned to his subordinate, and then back to the human. He did not reply, and instead slowly opened the driver's side door.

"I'm starting to see looters," the human continued, as he took a step back from the door. "People are going to take advantage of this. You have to do something. No one's been able to get hold of the cops for nearly an hour."

The Executor's subordinate climbed out of the car, as did the Executor himself. Behind him, his subordinate removed the automatic rifle that had been tucked in by the passenger seat and promptly flicked off its safety. The Executor reached into the car behind him and pulled out a similar rifle, specifically an ACR model. The eyes of the human male in front of him visibly widened, but he did not get a chance to say anything as the Executor punched him in the gut. It was a hard blow, sharp and sudden, and the man went down to his knees with a gasp. The Executor followed through with a strike from the butt of his rifle, clipping the human man across the head hard enough to draw blood. He went down suddenly, out cold, and a few of the people nearby looked on with shock at the sudden display of violence.

There were scores of people dotted across the sidewalk, and along the driveway leading up to the tall, rectangular structure of the casino/hotel. There might have been other police officers not far off, trying to instill some kind of order, but they would be able to do very little. The Executor regarded the groups of people ahead of him, before he gave a light nod to his subordinate. Cast in the brilliant yellowish glows of streetlights and the blinking, illuminated facade of the luxury hotel, the alien interlopers went to work. Both of them cocked their weapons and raised them to their shoulders, and without any further delay, they opened fire. They let fly with volley after volley of controlled bursts, sending rifle rounds tearing into the crowd ahead with little regard for actual target acquisition. Aiming was not entirely necessary here, neither were outright kills. Still, the Executor got an odd kick out of seeing the way in which the people panicked right away. All across the Strip and surrounding blocks, heads turned in the direction of the gunfire, and people began to flee in terror. It created a panic, as the crowds surged either way, with people tripping over one another to get away from the gun-toting officers and their apparent disregard for human life.

The Executor watched as several humans went down, twitching and convulsing as bullets tore through them. Men and women, old and young, it did not matter who went down, just that they did. He took a few steps forward as the crowds went left and right, with others fleeing for the casino entrance. Behind him, his subordinate swivelled around to open fire at the humans at the other side of the road, bullets shattering the glass of shopfronts and sending people running.

The Executor reloaded; a rapid action given that he had taped two magazines together. With a simple flip, the opposite magazine was loaded, all while he kept one bullet within the chamber to ensure that he was not entirely vulnerable while doing so. As soon as it was loaded, he resumed shooting, picking his targets at random. None tried to make a run for him, most were simply concerned with escaping with their lives.

Off to his right, he saw the flash of a police uniform. One of the real officers had arrived, and he was speaking into his radio at the sight of the two seemingly rogue officers. Short-wave radios remained in working order, not that this would help most citizens who relied solely on cellphones. Still, it was a concern that the authorities here might become organized; the Executor swivelled around and shot the approaching officer without a second thought. He went down behind a bus stop shelter, the glass of it shattering as rifle rounds tore through it. With the second magazine now nearing empty, the Executor turned to his subordinate and signalled for him to cease.

However, the recently deceased police officer by the bus stop had not been alone. Another one appeared at the other side of the street, emerging from a group of fleeing civilians, pistol raised.

The gunshots caught the Executor's attention right away. One of the police car's windows shattered and he felt something brush by him by a narrow margin. A bullet, he realised, and it had missed by an inch, perhaps less. His subordinate caught one of the other rounds in the chest and a second in the throat, and as his life-signs faltered so did the holographic disguise. He slumped backwards against the car, his alien visage now visible to all, purple blood smearing in his wake. The Executor saw this and immediately returned fire, sending the officer falling from a bullet that tore through his chest.

They had done enough damage. The Executor grabbed hold of his wounded subordinate and pulled him into the car, before reaching over and shutting the door. His subordinate was bleeding profusely, purple blood spurting out of a hole that had been torn into his neck. A wet gargling noise escaped from his throat, and one hand went to the ragged hole in a futile attempt to stem the bleeding. The Executor, now settled into the driver's seat, released the handbrake and hit the accelerator. The police cruiser shot forwards, skidding loudly, tire marks being left in its wake. They went tearing on down the Vegas Strip, a scene of carnage left behind them, all while the Executor listened to his subordinates dying breaths and purple blood splashed across the upholstery.

* * *

They were not the only two to attempt to cause panic. In a few other parts of the city, similar scenes played out, where police officers or paramedics or even firefighters launched such 'attacks'. They operated in pairs, finding themselves crowded areas scattered across the city, before haphazardly opening fire into groups of civilians. It was all organized, a mass terrorist attack from the kinds of people the citizenry was meant to trust. None realised the true nature of those who took to shooting unarmed civilians, and despite the lack of working phones, word quickly spread of the attacks. Suddenly, the real police officers found themselves met with dangerous levels of resistance, and armed citizens started taking to the streets. Some of the Executor's people also faced the occasional bit of resistance from an armed citizen, but as soon as such trouble reared its head the aliens would make a quick getaway.

It was not just Las Vegas, although that was the focal point. Even in Colorado Springs, something similar occurred, albeit on a smaller scale. The Field Marshall had broadcasted that he had soldiers ready to strike anywhere, at anytime. Of course, this was an exaggeration, but for now striking panic and chaos into two cities within the country was an acceptable goal. It was all just a prelude, really, for the Field Marshall had bigger plans that would put such shootings to shame.

* * *

The flight over to Nevada did not take too long, although it was evening by the time the team's plane touched down at Henderson Airport on the outskirts of Las Vegas itself. John had requested they be teleported over, but the presence of scramblers in and around Area 51 made that impossible. Such devices had been placed to prevent incursions via teleportation, yet now that very technology was working against them. Spending a couple of hours on a plane had been the only real option.

Going to Henderson had been a diversion from the originally intended touchdown near to Area 51 itself, and it became quickly apparent why.

Joanne was seated in the rear cargo section of the large transport craft, with Valkas on her right and Colonel Sheppard and Daniel seated across from her. Very little had been said between the team members during the flight. Still, from the way John looked she could gather that he was growing impatient. Trouble was brewing all over, and here they were enjoying a leisurely flight across a few states.

The inside of the cargo transport was mostly drab green and fairly sparse. A few crates of equipment were stashed at one end of the rear cargo section, but otherwise the team members were the only ones present. According to their briefing, hasty as it was, they were to meet up with military forces present at the Groom Lake Airbase, otherwise known as Area 51. From there, they were to liase with the military personnel present to put an end to the hostile takeover of the airbase. It was not until they had entered Nevada airspace that the plan changed, with Jack O'Neill himself emerging from the cockpit section.

"All right campers, change of plan." He had been sent along by General Janssen as an 'advisor'. A man of his experience and knowhow would likely prove useful in the current crisis, and Janssen had likely bent a few rules by sending him along. The help was appreciated, of course. "There's some bad stuff going down in Vegas and we've been requested to provide assistance."

"Bad stuff?" Joanne asked.

"Alien terrorists, most likely," Jack replied. He had a hand around some of the camouflage netting at the wall, keeping himself stable as the plane began to descend upon the airfield. "The local cops have managed to get word out on the short-wave radios, which are the only things still working at the moment. Organized shootings, and a lot of dead civilians. I'm thinking at least a few of us should check it out, see what's going on. Put a stop to it, even." He turned to Sheppard. "It's your decision, Colonel. You're the team leader." Jack had no official rank here at the moment, being the unofficial 'advisor' he was, and he likely did not want to intrude on Colonel Sheppard's leadership here. He trusted the man enough to leave the decision to him.

"It's the worst-case scenario, short of them infiltrating the government," Jack added. "We're going to need all hands-on deck for this one."

John seemed to consider this for a moment. He looked to Daniel, and then to Joanne.

"The Field Marshall's going to be at Area 51," he stated. "I'm sure of that."

"How so, sir?" Joanne asked him.

"Call it a gut feeling," he replied. He glanced at Joanne. "You've got experience with these aliens, Captain. I want you to assist the local authorities and get rid of these aliens."

"What?" Joanne realised that her surprise and outright reluctance was very apparent within her voice, and she was quick to nullify it as she spoke again. "I mean, Colonel, I thought it best we stick together…"

"We're stretched thin as it is," John interrupted. "We'll have plenty of help at Area 51, but not so much in the city." They were beginning to touch down onto the runway now, and there was a sudden lurch as the landing gear made contact with the tarmac. The whole plane shook, and Joanne found herself clutching for the nearest handhold, despite the harness that was keeping her from falling out of her seat.

"Daniel and I will proceed to Area 51," John added, glancing at the archaeologist. Daniel quirked up a brow, a little surprised by the order.

"We will?" Maybe he had been hoping to go to Vegas. Joanne had sometimes considered going there during her time at Area 51, but she had simply never got around to it. She had been far more focused on furthering her career as a pilot, for all the good that had done her in the end.

"Joanne, I want you to take Valkas with you. I know it's risky, but it's about time he got a proper impression of the outside world. Just…" He trailed off, and his eyes darted about the cargo hold. They were slowing down now, taxiing over the runaway before working towards a gradual halt. John reached onto the wall behind him, where various equipment odds-and-ends were hanging from the camouflage netting. He grabbed a set of tinted goggles and some kind of black cloth wrap, before he threw both items to Valkas.

"Keep your gloves on," John ordered. Valkas did indeed have a set of black field gloves on. With the cloth and the goggles joining them, it would help to conceal his non-human nature from the rest of the world. "I don't think the folks down at Area 51 will want an alien poking around, no matter how friendly he is. It'll be better for him if he stays with you."

"But Colonel, wouldn't it be best if we stick together? Area 51 is the primary objective. I know the place well, I worked there…"

"I'm trusting you to take care of the alien problem in Vegas," John said. He paused, the smallest trace of a smile crossing his mouth. "You know, I never thought I'd actually have to say that."

"We can regroup later," he added, after a pause. "I need someone I can trust in the city, and you're it. Daniel and I will help the people at Area 51."

"Colonel, are you sure about this?" Jack asked him, his eyes going from Valkas and to the Colonel. "I mean, Valkas doesn't exactly blend into a crowd." As he spoke, Valkas had slapped on the tinted goggles, concealing his yellow eyes from view. He began to wrap the cloth around his head, essentially concealing every inch of scaly skin from outside eyes. Jack watched him as he did this, and at a glance the Calsharan did actually appear somewhat normal.

"What do you think?" Valkas asked, his voice a little muffled under the cloth wrap.

"He's pulled through for us before, Jack," John said. "I'd rather someone back up the Captain, and he's it. After all, he's a member of this team, and it wouldn't be the first time we've had an alien help us with an Earth-bound problem."

Jack nodded.

"No, no it wouldn't."

The rear doors began to open, with the ramp underneath extending in turn. Light flooded into the rear of the plane, mainly from the portable ones erected around the runway. As for the sky itself, it had turned the deep black of night, with a cool breeze wafting inside the plane. Both Joanne and Valkas stood up from their seats, taking up their gear. Joanne offered one last look at the Colonel.

"Sir," she said, snapping him a quick salute. "We'll do our best."

"I'm sure you will." Colonel Sheppard returned the gesture. "Now get a move on. You've got a city to save."

Joanne relaxed and smiled at the remark. With her rifle slung around one shoulder, she joined Valkas as they both strode out of the plane. They were met at the end of the ramp by an Air Force officer, who promptly told them to follow. Behind them, the ramp began to retract and the doors began to close, leaving Captain Joanne Bowers on the kind of important mission she had often dreamed about being in charge of. Still, after what had happened at Ra's fortress, her eagerness was reduced by an undercurrent of general caution. No mistakes this time, she told herself. Millions of people were counting on her.

* * *

_Note: I've always believed a smaller cast of characters can be beneficial, as it allows for greater focus on each one. Hence why there isn't going to be every TV show character in this story (mind you, this is still only the beginning and I have grand plans, you might say). As for Earth's capabilities regarding star-ships and the like, again, not at this point._


	41. Dreamland

**Dreamland  
**April 2nd, 2022

The trip from Vegas to Area 51 was short, and the cargo plane touched down at an airstrip on the very edge of the airbase itself, one that seldom saw any regular use. This also went for the few mostly empty hangars at its edge, part of an older section of the base that had been gradually put out of service since the 1960s. There was no underground section to this part of the facility, just a few empty hangars and an office complex that was mostly just glorified storage now. As for the rest of the base, it was apparent even upon exiting the aircraft that all was not right. Thick plumes of smoke rose high over the desert from several points of the airbase, fires still burning strong from previously detonated explosives. John saw these as soon as he stepped out onto the runway, a cool breeze wafting through as the sky above descended further into the black of night. There were plenty of stars appearing high above, as the light pollution was minimal this far from any population centre.

John was joined by Daniel and Jack as they emerged from the plane. Military Humvees were parked about the closest hangar, where a makeshift operations centre had been setup. Several computers had been placed on a long table in the centre of the hangar, with technicians and other personnel working at these stations. Armed soldiers stood guard nearby, with several more on stand-by off to the side of the hangar. There, they went through equipment and weapons, no doubt waiting for the go-ahead.

The trio were greeted by a stern African-American man who appeared to be in his mid-forties, with buzzcut greying hair. He was dressed in a Marines uniform marked with the insignia of a Major. John could immediately tell that this Major was a strict no-nonsense type, and he appeared to regard the newcomers with some disdain.

"Colonel Sheppard," the Marine said, and he snapped off a salute. "I'm Major Kyle Johnston. I was informed you would be coming." He then glanced at Daniel and seemed to immediately recognize him as anything but a soldier. "They told me you would be taking charge, Colonel."

"They did?" John had expected to be answering to someone of a higher rank, but he supposed that arrangements had been made to put the man with experience with these aliens in a position of authority. "That's news to me, Major."

"As it was to me, sir." Johnston frowned. "Your friend here, he isn't wearing a rank." He was referring to Daniel, of course, although it likely extended to Jack, as even he was bereft of rank insignia.

"Oh, that's Doctor Daniel Jackson," John said. "He's a civilian advisor, and he's good in a fight."

"I'm sure he is, sir." Not surprisingly, Johnston did not sound convinced. His gaze went to Jack. "And your other friend?"

"That's retired General Jack O'Neill," John replied. "He's a military advisor."

"Advisor?" Johnston put out a hand, and Jack took the offer for a brief handshake. "Is this all your people could spare? A Colonel who's been out of the game for years and two advisors?" It certainly sounded like he had done some reading on Sheppard, at least. And he did not sound entirely impressed. John could only wonder if he had been able to read the more secretive reports, particularly those that concerned his tenure in the Pegasus Galaxy.

"It's a unique situation," Jack said, as he released the Major's hand. "We've got a lot of problems on our own end that need clearing up, as you can probably guess."

"Everybody's got problems, sir," the Major replied. "The whole world's in a heap of trouble, and it can all be traced to here. I don't know what the powers-that-be were thinking, but Area 51's sophisticated underground computer network gave these intruders the key to the entire world's communications systems." He nodded towards the hangar behind them. "Follow me. We should get you all up to speed."

John and the others fell into step with the Major as he took them into the hangar, and over to the central table where the operations centre had been setup. Here, a large map of the facility had been spread out, one of the surface facilities and a number of others that detailed the underground sections. They were detailed maps, the kind that would never see anywhere outside of the perimeter fence given the secretive nature of the facility. If the world at large found out what kind of work was being done here, there would likely be all manner of trouble. And that was before this situation had gone well out of their control, with the Field Marshall making his 'broadcast'.

"We've estimated there to be about a dozen intruders into the underground facility," the Major explained. "No one's been able to get a proper look at them, and the surveillance cameras are offline. They used disguises and convincing forged documentation to get through the front gate, and from there they somehow made their way underground whilst bypassing every security checkpoint along the way." He had likely not been briefed on exactly what he was up against, something that likely fell to John and his companions.

"That's because they didn't have to go through security, Major," Jack said.

It was cold in here; they could all feel it. This would only get more so as night fell. John wondered if he could get someone to close those hangar doors, or maybe an extra layer of clothing. Then again, he supposed it did not matter, as soon enough someone was going to have to lead a strike team into the underground facility. And that 'someone' was going to be him.

"What do you mean, sir?" Johnston narrowed his eyes, hard as they were.

"They're aliens, Major."

Johnston did not appear at all fazed. In fact, he looked almost relieved, in a way. As if this was somehow good news.

"Aliens infiltrated Area 51?" He delivered this as more of a rhetorical question, than one that he expected an answer to. "I had my suspicions, we all did, but as I said, no one's been able to get a proper ID on any of the intruders. A dozen, at least, got inside the underground facility. Another half dozen, maybe slightly more, got through the perimeter fence and planted explosives on a number of surface-level structures. The damage was minimal, but we believe they were simple diversions."

"Are they still underground?" Daniel asked this, having been looking over the maps with a keen eye. He had been to Area 51 more than once during his time with SG-1, and John had made a few trips himself years before. Same with Jack. They all knew the terrain here, although a lot had probably changed over the previous decade or so, since John had last paid a visit.

"They're holed up down there, all right," Johnston replied. "First responders went in as soon as security got breached, but they're all dead." His voice, stern already, took on a much grimmer tone. "Some kind of toxic gas was vented through much of the facility. A lot of personnel died, military and civilian. We haven't sent anyone in since, as we've been waiting on our experts from Cheyenne Mountain." He regarded John with scrutiny, still doubtful as to their status as 'experts'. "What do you say, Colonel? You have a plan? Anything you want to tell me?"

John reached into a pouch on his vest, from which he retrieved the Tollan device. He held it up so that the Major could see.

"Those aliens, Major, used technology that allows them to pass through solid matter," John explained. "That's not even something we have. They bypassed security because they didn't even have to stick to the corridors where the security is placed. All they had to do was walk through a few walls and doors to get themselves to their goal."

"And they took in weapons and toxic gas with them?"

"Anything they carried would have passed through with them," John said. "This here, this little thing, is supposed to disrupt this technology. Disable it. Thing is, we haven't had a chance to test it, and from what we know, it has only a short range. So, we're going to have to go down there."

"The intruders who bombed the surface facility have likely joined up with their friends underground," the Major said. "There could be at least twenty hostiles underground, maybe more. Not to mention the gas, which we still don't know the exact effects of. These aliens could be using something that not even our gas masks could protect against."

"We're just going to have to take that chance."

The Major did not seem convinced, but he also had no better ideas. Daniel tapped at the map in front of him then, turning to John.

"Do we know exactly where these guys are?" He asked. The Major walked up alongside him then, eyeing the blueprints spread out before them. He put a finger to one of the larger rooms, deep within the facility.

"The central communications hub," he replied. "It's got fibre-optic lines tied into every communications network in the country. That's how they were able to mess it all up. From what we've been able to work out, they've locked themselves in. We've got override codes, but they'd have to be entered at the doors themselves. And chances are they won't work, if these aliens know what they're doing."

"And they do," John added. "They'd expect us to have some kind of override."

"There's some old maintenance access tunnels, here and here," Daniel said, pointing them out on the layout. "We could use them to get close, get the drop on the intruders."

"Those tunnels have been welded shut," Major Johnston said. "No one's used them since the fifties."

"Then we'll burn them open again," Jack interjected. "A small team could go right on in. If those aliens are hooked into the surveillance cameras, and chances are good they've done just that, then they'll see us coming from a mile away if we try any other approach."

"If they catch you in there, you'll be a sitting duck. Proverbial fish in a barrel. That access tunnel must be, what? Not even four feet across, and the climb is at least five-hundred feet straight down. It's a hell of a climb, with no room to move."

"Then we hope they don't catch us in there." John stepped forwards, surveying the plans of the facility. "This tunnel here, it'll get us nearest to the hub." Judging from the plans, the facility had been added to again and again over the many decades of its existence. There was a mish-mash of old and new sections, with tunnels and vents that were either closed off or simply out-of-use. Laboratories, workshops, storage areas, even an armoury was down the hall from the central hub.

"We'll need welding gear and plastic explosives, possibly even thermite," John stated. "They could have shut themselves inside, which isn't a problem for them if they can walk through walls." He pocketed the Tollan device as he said this. "We have to get close enough to try this thing, put them on the same playing field we're on."

"I can organize all of that," the Major said. "How many men do you want? I've got plenty of good Marines here."

"Maybe three or four. Like you said, it's going to be pretty cosy in that shaft." John glanced at Daniel. "You should stay here Daniel, hold down the fort."

"I'm coming, John," Daniel said. Judging from his tone of voice, this was one thing he was not going to back down from. "And no, you can't talk me out of it. We're a team, aren't we?"

"That's the spirit," Jack remarked.

"You coming too, General?" John turned to him, curious.

For a moment there, Jack seriously considered it. Sure, he was old, they all were getting that way. Jack had simply had a head-start over the rest of them in that regard. John could see the indecision in his eyes, on the lines on his face. He could almost see the wheels in his mind turning over, as he pondered what might be involved. Crawling through dusty shafts, getting into gunfights with aliens and generally being right in harm's way, all things that Jack had done plenty of in the past. There was, however, no denying that he was perhaps not in the best shape for that kind of thing anymore.

"You know, Colonel, if you had asked me that ten years ago, I would have said 'yes'," Jack replied. He then slowly shook his head. "Now, though, I think I'm better suited to hold down the fort here. Field work, it's a young man's game, you know?"

The Major appeared to be growing a little impatient. He cleared his throat, turning John's attention back to him.

"You decided, Colonel?" He asked him.

"Get me four Marines and a blow-torch," John answered. The plan was haphazard at best, but if it meant getting the drop on the aliens, then it was probably their best bet. "You know, that phrase sounds a little off when you think about it."

* * *

It took some messing around, but eventually a technician with a blowtorch and the appropriate protective visor showed up at the site of the obsolete access shaft. It was buried underneath a foot of dirt, with a pair of Marines going to work at the location with a shovel each. The access hatch itself was located by one of the hangars, not far from the tall transmitter tower situated towards the centre of the surface facility. At this hour, the blanket of night had fallen fully over the Nevada desert, with very few lights on within the airbase itself. Fires still burned here and there, casting flickering yellow light over some of the nearby buildings. A portable light had been placed near the group, as they watched the two Marines hastily dig for the old access hatch, tossing aside dirt and sand.

John stood nearby, with Daniel on his left and the four Marines assigned to their team waiting only a short distance away. All of them had respirators hanging around their necks, complete with goggles. They had no idea what kind of gas they might be walking into, so it paid to take all possible precautions. It could be a simple as chlorine gas, which would ensure the respirators were all they needed to protect themselves; however, if it was something more akin to a blistering agent such as mustard gas, then any exposed skin was at risk. For all they knew, gas masks could be useless, hence why John had volunteered himself as the one to go in first, a fair way ahead of the others. If he ran into any difficulties with breathing and the like, they would bail out and try another approach.

Of course, they had no solid alternative plans in place, save for a full-frontal assault. God only knew what kind of traps the Field Marshall might have placed in the path of such a potential assault. It was a last resort measure at best, and one that John would prefer to avoid. Sneaking in was their best bet and getting close enough to use the Tollan device was their prime objective. As soon as the Field Marshall and his soldiers no longer had the ability to walk through walls, then matters would be far simpler.

Major Johnston approached the group then, as the hatch itself became visible from under the layers of dirt and sand. He had a few bulky transistor radios in his hands, and he gave one to John, before passing the others to the rest of the team.

"These older radios still work," he said. "Looks like analogue is as reliable as ever."

"Sounds about right." John clipped the radio to a spot on his vest, below his left shoulder. In front of him, the technician with the blowtorch and visor went to work on the rusted old hatch. The others turned their heads away from the blazing white light as the blowtorch started on the metal, sparks flying. It was another agonising wait as the technician proceeded to score a trail through the hatch near its edges. As he neared the end of this line, he switched off the torch and gripped the handlebars in the centre of the hatch. Pulling it up, the remaining pieces still connecting the hatch to its outer edge came away. He threw the hatch aside, the cut edges searing smoke. The hatch was as a small as Johnston said it would be, with a rusted ladder built into the shaft that went straight down. John walked up to it then, placing his respirator and goggles over his face as he neared it. It would be an awkward fit, especially with all the kit he wore, but it would not be the first time he had needed to crawl somewhere dark and dusty. He had tried to pack light; submachine gun, sidearm, and a handful of grenades (both stun and fragmentation ones). Still, the confines of the shaft were going to be very cosy.

"Give me a five-minute headstart," he told the others. "I'll radio ahead and tell you what the go is. Hopefully the signal will get through, otherwise I'll just have to climb back up. If you don't hear from me in ten minutes, then something's wrong and you'll have to come up with another plan." Hardly a sound scheme, but it was all they could manage on short notice.

He slung his MPX submachine gun around one shoulder, before he put one foot onto the topmost rung of the ladder and started, very carefully, to climb his way down. He caught a glimpse of Daniel's concerned face as he descended, the darkness within the shaft swallowing him whole.

* * *

It was a long way down. The sky above was the black of night, so John could not rely on any light seeping in through the open hatchway above him. Once he was inside that darkened emergency shaft, it only became darker from there on in. Every rung of the ladder, every surface around him was covered with a thick layer of dirt and dust. Even through his respirator, he could smell the stale air and the general scent of dirt and rust. This shaft had been long forgotten, presumably a Cold War-holdover, as Area 51 would have served as an effective fallout shelter in the event of a nuclear war. It was no wonder, then, that the shaft went as far down as it did. Hundreds of metres of solid ground was between the surface facility and the underground control centre, an obvious protective measure. How long had it been since he had been here last? A solid decade, probably more.

Even during his stint with the SGC, he had not been required to visit Area 51 very often. That was something generally reserved for the scientifically minded sorts, as Area 51 housed many of the secret projects that had created the likes of the F-302 fighters and Earth's interstellar battlecruisers.

He switched on the small flashlight attached to his vest, which cast white illumination across the shaft before him. Looking up, he could hardly make out the entrance. He was surprised that he had gone down so far so fast, as his knees and elbows were beginning to ache in complaint. Had he been twenty years younger, he might not have had this problem. Certainly not so soon.

It had been about five minutes. Looking down, he thought he could make out the bottom in the darkness. A few metres below him was a grille in the wall, leading into an even narrower ventilation duct. Despite the age of the shaft, he could hear the rapid _beat-beat_ of a fan coming from within the duct nearby. With one hand grasping the rung in front of him tightly, he used to other one to toggle on his radio.

"Major Johnston, come in." He paused briefly, expecting some kind of interference. He was relieved to hear the Major's voice crackle through the radio, a little more static-infused than it would have been had it come through a more modern, digital device.

"_Colonel Sheppard, what's your status?"_

"The others can start making their way down. I'm not far from the bottom of the shaft. If there's gas around, I'll know soon enough."

"_Understood, Colonel. I'll send them in."_

John closed the channel then and resumed his climb. If the Field Marshall somehow knew about the alternate entry, then his odds of running into a trap or ambush were very high. Better he be the only one caught in it, instead of leading an entire team into it. Some might have thought it foolish for the team leader to put himself so readily in harm's way, but John had always been one to lead from the front. That was what leaders should do, and it was a belief he had adhered to for his entire time in the military. There was also his determination to make sure none got left behind, which was something that had got him into trouble in the past. His mind wandered to Natalia then, and how she had died on his watch. The same went for Bastion and his team, even if it had been Bastion himself who had led them into the trap to begin with. John could not help but feel some kind of responsibility, no matter how unlikely it was.

He reached the bottom of the shaft then. There was a doorway that lead into a tiny, closet-sized 'room' with a metal door at the end of it. As expected, the door was locked solid, although for this John had come prepared. From a pouch at his waist, he withdrew a small foil-covered cylinder about as long as his finger and with a similar thickness. Trailing off of it were a pair of wires, one red and one yellow. The pocket-sized explosive was a high-temperature charge, designed specifically for breaching doors with a minimum of noise. Taking off the foil to expose the adhesive, he attached it to the metal door, right below the handle where the lock was. The two wires he hooked up to a small detonator, and after taking a few steps back he hit the switch and set off the charge.

There was a subdued hiss as the charge turned red-hot and poured white smoke, sending small red sparks flying. The smell of melting steel hit his nostrils as it burned through the lock, sizzling audibly. The whole detonation was over in a matter of seconds, and with a light push the door swung open. On the other side, John was met by a darkened storage room of sorts, with aisles of shelving and various cleaning products and electrical parts scattered across them.

He cannot have been far from the communications centre. His eyes surveyed the darkened room, searching for signs of surveillance devices. As expected, there was one in the far corner. If the Field Marshall was watching that particular feed, then John's element of surprise was gone. Given the sheer amount of cameras within the facility, for them to be watching the feed from some storage room at this very moment was highly unlikely.

Again, John had come prepared. From his vest he pulled a small, but powerful, laser pointer. Switching it on, he targeted the red beam onto the lens of the camera, which would be more than enough to completely disrupt the image. After a good twenty seconds, he switched it off, satisfied that the laser had done enough outright physical damage to render the camera useless. Stowing the laser pointer for now, he unslung his submachine gun and moved up to the door ahead.

This one was unlocked, thankfully. With one hand at the handle, he turned it slowly, allowing himself to open it only partially. Barrel pointed through the gap, he peered into the corridor beyond, all drab grey and pale whites. Almost sterile, save for the bodies littered about the corridor. Most were security personnel, sprawled in various positions, some of whom had been clutching at their necks as they went down.

Victims of the gas, no less. If it was still around, his gas mask was doing enough to protect him. John gently closed the door, before turning back to the way he had come in. Again, he switched on his radio.

"All right, it seems safe enough. You can come on down."

He did not have to wait long for the first of the team to appear in the doorway. The first of Johnston's Marines entered, and this one was soon followed by three more. Last but not least, Daniel followed them into the storage room. He walked up to John, expression curious underneath his respirator and goggles.

"How's it look?" Daniel asked him, his voice low.

"Clear enough." John pushed open the door, slowly, weapon raised. Flitting his attention from the left and then to the right as he stepped into the corridor, he gestured for Daniel and the Marines to follow. "Stay close. They've got cameras everywhere, and if they see us coming we'll need to act fast."

The lights fitted into the ceiling of the corridor and its adjoining rooms were the more expensive but more efficient LEDs, and they cast a brilliant white glow over everything around them. In a way, it simply made the tiled hallway appear even more sterile than it might have usually, with only the odd potted fern to break up the monotony of whites and greys. As John passed one of them, he noticed right away that it was not a real fern, rather a plastic fake, which he supposed should not be surprising. The underground facility was that far removed from the outside world, John wondered how anyone could possibly put up with working in here for months at a time.

From the layout, the communications centre was some ways ahead. A security checkpoint was located partway down the corridor, occupied by a single dead Air Force MP who was sprawled over his desk, white foam having seeped out of his mouth during his thrashing about as the gas had done its work. John and the team climbed around the scanner at the checkpoint, so as to not set off any alarms with their weapons.

The maps they had were not entirely necessary now, as there were signs set on the walls at regular intervals denoting where some of the more important sections were. These were complete with thick colour-coded lines painted on the walls and floors, displaying the most efficient path to each section. The path to the communications centre had been given a light blue line, and it seemed efficient to follow it. John kept at the front of the team, with the Marines moving staggered behind him, Daniel somewhere in the middle. The communications hub was not hard to miss, as there were multiple signs pointing to it the nearer they came. A 'Level Five' Security Clearance would normally have been required to get to this point, but something told John that security clearance was the least of their concerns.

Had the Tok'ra operative given the Field Marshall the information necessary to get inside? How had the Field Marshall known that Area 51 was as important as it was? He supposed such questions did not matter much now, as the damage was done. The United States had been infiltrated by alien terrorists, which was one of those 'worst case scenarios' that the people in the SGC had planned for. That was, of course, not taking into account the ability for their enemies to pass through solid matter. No contingency plan in existence could properly accommodate such a variable.

John used the laser pointer to blind another surveillance camera as they neared the entrance to the communications centre. There were three doors, with the main one being in the centre of an adjoining corridor. A security checkpoint was by each entrance, although these checkpoints were either empty of actual security guards or the guards themselves lay dead nearby. John approached the main door, a pair of bulky metal ones that appeared to be locked tight.

"We're going to need the thermite up here," he announced, glancing back at the Marines. One of them approached, pulling out a pair of thermite charges. John pointed to two of the other Marines. "You two, head for the left-side entrance." And then to the other two: "You guys, to the right. We're going to have to coordinate this."

The Marines headed their separate ways. John stuck a thermite charge to the centre of the metal bulkhead. Even with the high temperature charges, it would still take several seconds to force open these doors. Far too long, given the circumstances.

"You could try the codes," Daniel suggested. John nodded towards the keypad by the door. Normally, it would require a palm-scan and a retina-scan, not to mention an ID card. The codes were supposed to bypass those steps entirely.

"Give them a shot," John said. "But they won't work. The Field Marshall will have made sure of that."

Daniel nodded in acknowledgement. They both knew that their enemy was far better prepared than to allow some simple codes to open these doors. Trying the codes could easily alert the intruders inside that someone was trying to break in. A brute force entrance was so far their only guaranteed entry.

As for the thermite, it was going to be an excruciatingly slow breach. John and the team had stun grenades and the like with them, but it was still going to be risky. This was one plan that even John had his doubts over.

"We should call for backup," Daniel said. "I mean, there's got to be a good dozen of them inside, right?"

"We'll smoke them out," John replied. "Besides, I ain't waiting for backup. We're here, now, and we've got the gear to flush these bad guys out." He clicked on his radio then, getting through to the Marines. "All right, we in position?"

"_Affirmative."_ The Marines clicked their radios on and off for confirmation. John turned to Daniel, as he withdrew the detonator from a pouch at his waist and backed away from the door.

"They're going to know we're coming as soon as that starts burning," he told Daniel. The archaeologist had since moved over to the opposite side of the doorway, his submachine gun at the ready. John moved into a similar position, at the opposite side of the doorway. "Stun grenades in as soon as the doors are open."

Daniel nodded in understanding and pulled a pair of stun grenades from where they had been clipped to his waist. John could feel his heart pounding, as he thumbed the switch on his radio. It would be a three-pronged attack, and hopefully it would be enough to eradicate the Field Marshall and his team.

"Here we go," John said, his hand around the detonator.


	42. Fire on the Strip

**Fire on the Strip  
**April 2nd, 2022

Despite the chaos caused by the Field Marshall's disruption of global communications, not to mention the chaos brought on by the attacks carried out by his soldiers within the city and elsewhere, the nightlife of Las Vegas was as active tonight as it was every other night. In fact, it was perhaps a little crazier than usual, as if more people were going out this night than any previous one, a means to cope with the increasing trouble brought on by the chaos that was seeping its way into the city and the rest of the country. Why stay in your hotel room, when your phone did not work, your Internet was disconnected, and the television was providing only sporadic broadcasts at best? What better way to spend such an evening than down on the casino floor, or at the bar, or watching some live show of some sort? Of course, most of the live shows scheduled had been cancelled given the incidents that had occurred in the past few hours.

Joanne had not been to Vegas before, despite her time spent working at Area 51. Usually, when she got a day off, she spent it on the base in her room, reading or watching television. Thinking about it now, it occurred to her that she had very little social life. Outside of work, who did she know, other than immediate family? She had no friends, that much was apparent. Yet, at the same time, she did not much care for such social pursuits. As it stood, she had certainly found a friend in Valkas, not to mention the others on the team.

Right now, though, it was her and Valkas seated in the back of a black Escalade. The driver was a man in an Army uniform, and he said nothing as he took them out of the airport and onto the freeway. It was the very one that lead into the heart of the city, although where Joanne expected to see crowds milling about on the sidewalks, she instead saw police cars and roadblocks. Officers directed traffic along a few predetermined paths, not that there was too much of it to begin with. Joanne was surprised to see an actual tank parked at one street corner, with soldiers standing guard by it. The unmistakable form of an M1 Abrams tank, no less, painted a drab sand colour. Soldiers were setting up sandbags around it, essentially creating a defensive position. They were not Army, Joanne saw; rather, they were National Guard. Always a good sign to see them out on the streets, she thought, with a healthy layer of sarcasm.

"That's not normal, is it?" Valkas was the one to ask this, watching the tank and the soldiers through the window as they drove by it.

"No, it's not." Joanne shook her head. "Things must be getting bad if they're putting the Guard on the streets." She leaned forwards then, directing her eyes to the driver. "Hey, how much further we got?"

"Not far now, ma'am." The driver took them on a left turn, sending them past a large and luxury hotel before directing them to an unassuming office building at the far end of the street. Police cars and National Guard trucks were parked out the front, with soldiers and cops roaming about the whole setup. The driver brought their car to a halt right outside the building, before he climbed out and opened the doors for the pair of them. Joanne and Valkas emerged into the cool night air, with cops and National Guardsmen all around. A few turned to look at the new arrivals, with most of the curious gazes being directed to Valkas. His face was covered by the cloth wrapping and the tinted goggles, so they could not immediately see that he was not human. They, of course, could easily see that he was of a much larger stature than most of the people around here, not to mention the questions that must be in their minds as to why he was outfitted the way he was.

From the glass automatic doors of the building's entrance ahead, there came a well-tailored blonde-haired man in a black suit, complete with tie and similarly well-tailored trousers. His hair was turning a little grey at the edges, but otherwise he appeared to be of a similar age to Colonel Sheppard. Early, maybe mid-fifties, no more than that.

"Captain Bowers?" The man approached her, and he put out a hand. She shook it with him, briefly, before he abruptly broke the contact. "I'm Assistant Director Malcolm Barrett, NID. I've been put in charge of the counter-terrorism effort here in the city."

"NID?" Joanne had heard of them. She had also seen many mentions of them in some of the mission reports she had read, back at the SGC. Oftentimes, they were not mentioned in a positive light, and were generally regarded as an intrusive, bureaucratic body that apparently did all it could to impede typical SGC operations. Granted, those reports had been from years ago, and things had most certainly changed since then.

"What does that stand for, exactly?" Joanne asked. Her question went unanswered, as Barrett turned to Valkas and offered him a hand. The Calsharan looked at it for a moment, before taking the agent's hand to shake. Apparently, he did so with a significant amount of force, as Barrett winced as the Calsharan wrapped his hand into its powerful grip, if only momentarily.

"I'm not familiar with your friend," Barrett said, as he took his hand back, rubbing it with his other.

"This is…" Joanne trailed off, unsure of just what she should say here. To what extent was Barrett's security clearance? She had no idea, so she figured it best to play it safe.

"Vincent," she said suddenly. "He's an independent contractor, full security clearance."

"Uh-huh." Barrett did not appear convinced.

"He's got a rare skin condition," Joanne added. "That's why he's covered up."

"Right." Again, Barrett did not entirely believe her. Still, he must have thought better than to press the matter further, as he turned around and directed her to follow. "Come on, I'll bring you up to speed."

The pair followed Barrett into the office complex, which was only about three floors in total and much wider than it was tall. The sign over the door denoted the office as belonging to FEMA, the Federal Emergency Management Agency, although it had been thoroughly commandeered by the police and the military. Barrett took them past a reception area and into a much larger, more open office floor where a sort of operations centre had been established. Computers had been placed about the room, with radio equipment and the like setup in one corner. Technicians and police officers moved about in a hustle of activity, passing notes and collaborating upon a large map of the city that had been pasted onto the far wall. Red pins had been scattered across it, with black ones thrown into the mix as well. Barrett took the newcomers here first, gesturing to the map.

"Confirmed sightings are in the red," he said. "Unconfirmed are in the black. Without the phone lines in any reliable working order, we've had to organize using older transistor radios. It's getting bad, because no one can call an ambulance or the cops, and the emergency services here are stretched thin already dealing with the crisis. Someone could have a heart attack and there'd be no chance of a paramedic finding them in time."

"Do you know what you're dealing with?" Joanne asked. "You said 'confirmed sightings'. Just what are they sightings of?"

"Suspicious emergency personnel, mainly. Cops carrying assault rifles, ignoring calls for assistance, not to mention the dead giveaway of shooting civilians. By now, most people are keeping indoors, even in the casinos. Thing is, we've also got reports of aliens. An officer who was on the scene of one of these attacks was wounded, but not before he gunned down one of the assailants. What looked like a human police officer instead turned into something else entirely, some kind of red-brown thing with a black slit for eyes and purple blood." Barrett was no doubt drawing on a spotty eyewitness account, yet his description of the alien was still accurate.

"That'd be about right," Joanne replied.

"You know them?" She had to assume that Barrett was cleared with the SGC, especially if he was with the NID. "You can tell me, Captain. I know all about the stargate."

"Of course you do." Joanne had been told about the first time these aliens had crossed paths with the humans of Earth, over twenty years ago in their attempt to infiltrate the SGC. They had used holographic disguises, complete with telepathic links to those they were attempting to replace. Did Barrett know about this? It looked like she would have to be the one to tell him, if it meant he could do his job a little more effectively.

Nearby, Valkas had apparently lost interest in the conversation, as he had instead walked over to a nearby table where, atop a pile of papers, was placed one of those novelty plastic dipping birds. He began to fiddle with it, sending it into a constant dipping motion, all while he watched on with intrigue. Barrett's gaze floated over to him, and he exchanged looks with Joanne.

"Your friend must be new around here," he remarked.

"You could say that." Joanne walked up to the map, taking note of where the confirmed reports were located. There was no discernible pattern, save for the fact that they were concentrated towards the city centre. The Strip, and the surrounding neighbourhood. "They're doing this randomly."

"We gathered that," Barrett replied. "But why?"

"They're targeting the most crowded areas," Joanne said. "Because they want to cause as much damage as possible. You saw that broadcast, didn't you?"

"Who didn't?" Barrett frowned. "You mean to tell me these aliens are here just to cause trouble? Surely they've got a plan?"

It might have been easier, had the aliens had a plan. As it stood, Joanne knew that they were here at behest of the Field Marshall, intent on sowing as much panic as they possibly could. There was no rhyme or reason to what they did, and it was likely most of them knew that they would not be returning home. It was a suicide mission, driven purely by the desire for revenge.

"It's a revenge attack," Joanne said. "The one leading them, the one on that broadcast? He's been harbouring a grudge against us for twenty-something years."

"Is this in any of the mission reports?"

"No, because he and his friends almost took over the SGC at the time. The whole thing was buried, once they were thrown out of the base. Most of them escaped back through the stargate, and those that remained blew themselves up."

"Right." Barrett sounded as if he was going to say more, make some comment about this, but he must have decided otherwise. Joanne had been expecting some remark, so the fact that Barrett kept his opinion to himself made for a refreshing change.

"That still leaves us with little to go on," Barrett continued, after a pause. "If they're here to do as much damage as they can, then how do we respond to them? They could strike anywhere, at anytime."

Valkas was now fiddling with the nearby water dispenser. Apparently, pulling down the small plastic lever was not having the desired effect, and so he proceeded to kick the base of the machine hard enough to put a dent in the plastic. All heads turned to him then, and he looked about at the startled and curious eyes watching him, before he took a step back from the machine.

"Val…Vincent, could you quit screwing around?" Joanne shot him a forced smile, and Valkas moved back to her side.

"We just have to find them and neutralise them," Joanne said, returning her attention to Barrett. "They're targeting the city centre, so you can bet they'll pull another stunt soon enough. Somewhere there's a lot of unarmed people. The hotels and casinos, all along the Strip. There'll be a lot of people in them, and they'll be unarmed. Not many hotels around here let you carry guns inside."

"That's not enough to go on," Barrett replied.

Joanne wished she had more information, but as it stood, she had little else to add. Sure, she had encountered these aliens before, and as a result was more experienced with them than most others. Beyond that, what else did she really know about them, aside from the fact that they were dangerous and more than willing to die for their cause? How did one fight an enemy so ready to throw their lives away, all in an effort to plunge the planet into chaos? That was the intention, after all. Their attacks here, and in Colorado Springs, were simply intended to panic the civilian population. The broadcast had been meant to sow distrust between the people and the government, and in turn the Field Marshall was likely banking on the distrust between nations that would flare up once it was revealed that certain countries had been keeping secrets from others. Only a handful of nations had an involvement with the stargate program, even fewer had a part in the starship program. The diplomatic fallout of having an alien spill the beans in an international broadcast was still something that was yet to be seen.

"Either that, or they'll try and make an escape. Move on to the next big city." Joanne was simply speculating now, and she was beginning to feel increasingly useless. Valkas walked up to the map then, as if something had caught his eyes, and he put one gloved hand against it. He traced the lines of coloured pins, all while Barrett and Joanne watched on.

"How are they getting around?" Valkas asked. "If the streets are locked down, they can't just be driving around. And they're certainly not flying."

He had a point. The police had locked down the main roads, limiting movement through the city. Yet the reports still came in from around the Strip, as somehow these alien terrorists were popping up all over.

"They could have cloaked ships," Joanne suggested.

"Maybe." Valkas was unconvinced. He turned to her, face hidden under the tinted goggles and cloth wrap. As such, she really could not tell what he was thinking, save for his tone of voice. "But I bet it's simpler than that." He must have been onto something, and Joanne was trying to guess what.

Before any of them could elaborate on the point further, the technician seated at the radio nearby suddenly sat up, hand holding one side of his headset close to his ear.

"Director Barrett," he called, getting the man's attention. Both Valkas and Joanne followed him, as he moved over to the radio desk. "There's a call coming through, from an officer down by the Golden Springs Casino. Sounds like we've got confirmation on some of the assailants."

"A solid lead this time?" Barrett picked up the spare headset and put it over his ears. "I want it to be a certainty. We can't afford to send men out on some wild goose chase."

Joanne and Valkas remained nearby, watching intently, as Barrett listened in on the call. The radio technician made a few notes on a pad in front of him, before speaking into the headset's microphone.

"Understood. We hear it, loud and clear." He looked back at Barrett. "A bunch of guys in SWAT gear were just seen entering the casino from a back entrance. Thing is, no SWAT units are in operation there, so there's a good chance it's the hostiles."

Barrett nodded in acknowledgement. Joanne stepped forwards then, seeing a means to make herself useful. Her, and Valkas as well, no less.

"Director, I think my friend and I can help on this one." Joanne felt her confidence returning, now that she saw the kind of situation she was much better suited for. "We have firsthand experience with these aliens. We know what to expect." She paused, as she considered what else to add. Something that she had seen in a report of the original incident, from more than twenty years ago, came to mind. "What we'll need is some kind of emitter, something we can put a high-frequency burst through."

"Why's that?" Barrett quirked one eyebrow, unsure of where she was going with this.

"If they're disguised, then I know how we can flip the switch on them, if you know what I mean."

* * *

The Golden Springs Casino was similar to others along the Strip, although not quite as tall as some of the more well-known establishments that lined the street. A good twenty floors high, the Golden Springs Casino was wide and rectangular, with a lavish front plaza complete with water fountain, as well as a massive lit-up sign at the very top of its front façade with the casino's name emblazoned in flashing yellow lights. Despite the situation outside, the inside was highly active, with the casino floor crowded with people and business going as usual. Without the Internet or reliable television, gambling had turned into a much more popular diversion and the hotel owners were quick to capitalise on the sudden increase in business.

Outside, a black helicopter had begun to circle the premises. Its lights were on, green and white points against the dark of the night sky. Fitted to the chopper were a set of speakers, wires trailing off of them to a computer on the inside. There, a technician was seated at the monitor, preparing to send a high frequency burst through the powerful set of speakers that would, ideally, put an end to whatever holographic deception may have been taking place within the casino.

Joanne and Valkas had hitched a ride in a matte black government-issue Escalade, with Assistant Director Barrett accompanying them. As well as that, there were a good half-dozen NID operatives with them, outfitted in black tactical gear and armed to the teeth. Joanne had traded her submachine gun for a Remington 870 pump-action shotgun, which seemed like it would be a more useful tool within the confines of a hotel. Even so, they were essentially diving into the situation without much to go on, save for the possibility that a bunch of aliens had snuck in. With that in mind, it was still very much unconfirmed, but acting fast and hard was deemed to be better than playing it safe. Playing it safe had already seen the alien terrorists get away with their several of their lethal acts already, and so far the sighting of some suspicious emergency personnel entering the casino was the best lead they had received.

The car had deposited Joanne, Valkas and Barrett by the small circular plaza out the front of the casino. Police officers remained on standby at the street, most in unmarked cars as to prevent spooking the potential threats within the hotel. Valkas had armed himself with an MPX submachine gun. Anything bigger than that, or with more punch than a shotgun, would likely penetrate multiple surfaces inside the building, which would in turn put the civilians inside at risk. One always had to be sure of what they were shooting at, even more so who might be behind them.

They waited behind the Escalade, as the helicopter moved into position high above. Barrett was speaking to someone through a transistor radio, all while police officers nearby began to move any wandering civilians away from the area. A cool wind blew down the Vegas Strip, ruffling the uniform Joanne wore and sending a chill through her. When she had signed on to the SGC, she had not expected to be fighting aliens in Las Vegas. Nor had she expected to have an alien as a squad member, but life had a way of throwing things at you straight out of left field. In a way, despite everything she had been through, she would not trade this job for anything else in the world. At least here, she could make a genuine difference and save lives while she was at it.

"What's the plan?" Barrett put aside the radio and turned to her. Joanne had no real plan in mind, yet here Barrett was looking right at her for one.

"We need to make sure the bad guys are in there," she said, without much actual thought behind it. "I'll go in, take Vincent with me. We'll set off the high-frequency burst and see what happens."

"If they get revealed, they could panic. Start shooting up the place."

"Regardless of what we do, they're going to shoot up the place. Better we try to get a fix on their location first. I can scout ahead, try and work out what they're up to." Joanne glanced at Valkas, before motioning towards the front entrance. "We'll keep in contact. Come on, Vince." She added this last part with a smile, no doubt finding the Calsharan's new impromptu name amusing.

"Be careful in there, Captain." Barrett sounded doubtful of the overall plan, even if he knew full well that there was little else they could do. Civilians were everywhere here, which was likely what the bad guys wanted. It would force them to hesitate, put them in a difficult position where any attempt to stop them could result in collateral damage.

Joanne and Valkas made their way ahead, going for the front entrance. The doorman here eyed them curiously, and Joanne gestured for him to leave.

"You better get somewhere safe," she told him, and the doorman did not need to be told twice. He went running for the street and the police cars waiting there, whilst Joanne and Valkas moved into the front lobby. As expected, the place was as lavish as most others around here. Mirrors lined the walls at either side of the lobby, with potted ferns in the corners and plush red carpet underfoot. Beyond this, through a metal detector was the casino floor, which was naturally packed full of people. Multiple slot machines ringed, dinged and otherwise sounded off their celebratory alarms with every (slight) winning; the blackjack and roulette tables were also packed, and the overall air was filled with the noise of scores of people, and this included their conversations and their pleased or annoyed cries depending on their luck at the tables. Heads turned as the odd pair walked inside, guns very much visible. Even so, it was not the most unusual thing, if only because there were plenty of armed cops outside. Still, a few of the people they went by began to get up and leave, taking the hint that all was not right here.

There was music blaring from the speakers set in the ceiling, if only to add to the overall cacophony. From what Joanne could tell, it was Wang Chung's 'Dance Hall Days', the kind of song her father had often played when she had been much younger.

The pair made their way through the casino floor, finding no sign of the suspicious SWAT operatives or anyone else that did not quite fit in with the surroundings. Joanne stopped in the shadow of a plastic palm tree at the end of an aisle of slot machines, shotgun relaxed in a one-handed grip as she switched on the transistor radio attached to her vest.

"Barrett, it's Bowers." Joanne looked about the room ahead of her, with a bar off to the left and dozens of occupied tables and chairs before it. There was a craps table off to her right, where a handful of people had gathered in order to throw their money away. Joanne had not been one to gamble in such a manner, save for the occasional lottery ticket. Could anyone of the people in here be one of the aliens? For all she knew, everyone at that craps table could be one of them, all simply playing a part in order to properly blend in. It was a chilling thought, and she realised that she could have walked by any number of them and not known it.

"_What is it, Captain?"_

"I'm not seeing the hostiles," Joanne said. "They could be up on the hotel floors. That's a good twenty levels, and we'll need a lot of help to search every floor. What they could be doing up there…" She trailed off then, as Valkas had sidled up on her left. He put one hand to her shoulder and with his other hand, he pointed to the far end of the casino floor, where a security door was located. It was partially open, which was unusual, especially since the door would normally have been locked by the keypad next to it.

"Could they have come in through there?" Valkas asked.

"Or they could have gone through, maybe to the security room." Joanne once again took an extended look of her surroundings. There was too much here, too many people and too much noise. A land of confusion, really, made all the more worrisome that anyone of the people in here could not necessarily be as they truly appear.

"They could be in here right now," Joanne added.

"_Captain, is everything all right in there?"_ Barrett sounded worried._ "I've got people out here ready to come in and back you up. Just give the word."_

"Director, I think we might have a problem."

"_What kind of problem, Captain?"_

She did not immediately answer. Instead, she made her way for the unlocked security door, with Valkas following after her. Coming to it, she eased it open slowly, weapon at the ready. On the other side was a grey concrete corridor, running the length of the building. Both of them started down it, following it some way before they came to another security door. This one was wide open, which in itself was a bit of a giveaway. What added to this was the presence of a dead security guard lying in the doorway.

The man had been shot in the head without a chance to even reach for his gun. In the room behind him was a security hub of sorts, with surveillance feeds and computers all over the far wall. Standing at the panel was a man in SWAT gear, complete with vest, but something told Joanne that he was not a genuine member of that more specialised branch of the police. The SWAT operative was tapping away at the computer as both Joanne and Valkas walked inside, and he remained unknowing of their presence for a moment longer, engrossed in his work at the security console.

"Step away from the computer," Joanne announced, and she levelled the shotgun towards him. Valkas moved in after her, keeping watch on the corridor.

The SWAT operative paused in his work. Surveillance feeds before him showed all manner of angles from the casino floor, as well as shots of the corridors from the hotel levels above them. Slowly, the SWAT operator turned around, hands held high. His face was hidden underneath a black visor and mask, but even with that in place there was something off about him that Joanne detected. It was more of a gut feeling, perhaps brought on by his overall demeanour, or just his mere aura.

"Hold it right there," she ordered him, and she took a step forward. The SWAT operator remained still for all of a few seconds, before he put a hand to the keyboard behind him and hit one of the keys. Suddenly, red lights blinked across the monitor and others around it, and Joanne found herself reacting first and thinking last as she pulled the trigger.

The shotgun thundered loudly within the confines of the security room. The SWAT operator fell backwards against the computers, his sheer visage seemingly blinking out of existence at the moment of death. Instead, it was replaced with the sight of one of the red-brown exoskeletal aliens, the very ones that Joanne had come face-to-face with back at Ra's fortress. Purple blood gushed forth from the hole that had been blasted into his chest, all while the alien fell against the computers, knocking monitors about and smearing them with his viscous, dark purple blood.

The alien came to an unceremonious rest at the foot of the desk, head lulling to one side. Joanne rushed forwards to the security computers, her eyes being drawn to the surveillance feeds from the casino floor. People were getting out of their seats, attention going towards the front entrance, as well as others. Metal shutters were closing over them rapidly, closing out the outside world. Looking at the security monitors before her, Joanne could see right away just from the flashing warning messages that some kind of security lockdown had been engaged. Fire doors were closing, and exits were being blocked, all thanks to the now deceased alien intruder.

"Shit," Joanne muttered. She put aside the shotgun and tried her luck with the keyboard. As expected, things were unresponsive. The alien had locked them out, whilst simultaneously locking everyone in.

"What's going on?" Valkas turned to her.

"The bastard's closing the place off," she said. "All the exits, all the fire doors. It's going be difficult for anyone to get in or out, short of using explosives." Her eyes went back to the surveillance feeds, as the reality of the situation began to set in for some of the civilians inside the casino. Not only that, but from one door emerged about four of the phoney SWAT operators, weapons drawn. And again, another four from another door at the opposite end of the casino floor. Not only had the aliens trapped people inside, but they were moving in for the kill.

Joanne activated her radio.

"Barrett, it's Bowers." She continued watching the surveillance feeds, the feeling of dread that had been building within her turning into one of outright horror. "We need that high-frequency burst, right now. These assholes have locked down the building."

_"I can see that, Captain."_ Barrett sounded understandably hurried. _"I'm sending the backup in, but they're going to be delayed a little because of the lockout. You sure you want me to activate the pulse?"_

"One-hundred percent sure," Joanne replied. "We've got a few hundred unarmed people trapped between a bunch of fake SWAT operatives. I want to be sure they're not the only bad guys in there."

"_Understood. Sit tight, Captain. My men will be in there soon."_

Not soon enough, Joanne reckoned. Barrett must have given the signal to the men in the chopper, as a faint high-pitched whine filled her ears then, if only for a few seconds. The bulk of the sound was indiscernible to human ears. Valkas perked up, his ears picking up on it a little more than hers could. Nonetheless, it was over in a few seconds, and as she watched the surveillance feeds, she saw every one of those SWAT operatives get replaced with their true, alien forms. It was weird, the way in which their very appearance seemed to flicker and warp for a second or two, before it finally gave out entirely. Now they were revealed for what they truly were, to a few hundred civilians who were no doubt preparing to flee in terror.

"We're not sitting tight," Joanne declared, and she turned to Valkas. "We've got a job to do, I'm sure you agree?"

He nodded eagerly.

"No arguments from me, Joanne."


	43. Ambush

**Ambush  
**April 3rd, 2022

John and Daniel had taken up positions by the main entrance to the communications centre, a good couple of hundred metres underground at Area 51. The whole place was hooked up to a powerful transmitter on the surface level and was keyed into every major network in the country. As such, it had been easy enough for the Field Marshall to turn those very systems against them, corrupting them whilst using the transmitter as a means to broadcast his message to the world. No one had thought that alien intruders would be able to penetrate what was supposed to be a highly secure, top secret military facility. Of course, those people had not counted on the alien intruders being able to walk through walls at will.

With the Marines in position at the other doors, John exchanged glances with Daniel as he thumbed the switch on the detonator to the breaching charge. After a brief pause, he flicked the switch, setting off the thermite. It glowed brightly, searing through the metal of the door, eating through the lock in the centre at a rapid pace. It took a little longer than John would have preferred, but as soon as he saw that it had made a big enough hole, he moved to the middle of the double doors and grabbed hold of one, his hands well clear of the still burning hole. Daniel assisted him at the other side, with both of them pulling open the doors just enough for them to stick a gun through the gap. Daniel threw in a concussion grenade, as did the Marines at the other entrances, a good three of the stun grenades sailing inside and clanking about before detonating. Each went off with a loud _bang_ and a flash of white light, all while John forced open the main door enough for him to squeeze in.

The first of the Field Marshall's soldiers was nearby, still dazed from the stun grenade. John raised his submachine gun, hitting this alien with a quick burst of fire. Bullets tore through its chest, purple blood splattering onto the wall behind it, before it keeled over and slumped upon a nearby table.

John's eyes went towards the far end of the large chamber, displays and computers blinking and beeping all around him. The three massive wall-mounted screens ahead, which would normally display maps of the world among other things, were now taken up with bright purple readouts of alien symbols which scrolled rapidly across the screen. That was definitely not normal programming, John thought, as he moved deeper into the communications nexus.

There were two more of the aliens inside here, both of whom were towards the end, standing near what looked to be a major computer terminal. They were still reeling from the effects of the stun grenades the Marines had thrown in, and those very Marines were now storming inside. They did not hesitate to shoot the two aliens down, sending both crumpling to the floor within seconds. As the dust settled upon the whole scene, John was immediately struck by how easy it had been.

He knew from experience that nothing was ever truly 'easy'. He walked towards the main terminal, where he was met with a handful of computer displays that showed what were no doubt surveillance camera feeds. He pulled off his respirator and goggles, figuring that if there was even gas around, it would not be in here. To his left, Daniel stopped by one of the computers, his eyes regarding the alien symbols that danced across its display. Even to a linguistics expert like him, these symbols were unlike anything he had seen before, so at this point the good archaeologist appeared a little confused. Frustrated, even, as he realised he could make little sense of what these aliens had left here.

"That's it?" John asked aloud. He briefly regarded the two fallen aliens nearby. Switching on the radio, he tried to get through to Major Johnston and Jack on the ground above, but judging from the mass of static that came through it was apparent that they were too deep underground. "The Field Marshall's not here." He was a little disappointed as he added this, as he had been hoping to put a bullet in the alien leader himself, preferably after looking him in the eye.

"I don't think that's all of them," Daniel said. He pointed to one of the surveillance feeds. John turned to it, seeing what looked to be a shot from the corner of some long corridor somewhere, one that lead to a large metal bulkhead door. The Field Marshall was running down the corridor, followed by about four of his soldiers. All of them walked straight on through the metal bulkhead.

"Where is that?" John asked. Daniel was already on this, tapping away at the keyboard before the surveillance monitors. One of them changed to a layout of this particular section of the base, allowing Daniel to pinpoint the location of the camera.

"It's further down," Daniel said. "Much further. They're making good time, with those phase-shifters."

"We've got to catch up to them." John watched the feed, as the Field Marshall and his friends passed into another corridor, walking straight through the doors as if they were not even there. The Colonel reached into a pouch at his waist, feeling for the Tollan device that was supposed to disable those phase-shifters. There would be no point using it now, they were not close enough to their intended targets.

"We have to move." John turned to the Marines, who were standing nearby, keeping watch on the entrances. Before he could start giving orders, Daniel piped up again, diverting his attention.

"Ah, John." He had slung his submachine gun around one shoulder, freeing both hands as he went to work at the computer. "They've done more than mess with the communications here." The screen in front of him went from one readout to another, before another layout of the base appeared, this time of some lower level.

"What do you mean?" John's level-headedness momentarily gave way to something of much deeper concern, and he sidled up alongside Daniel as the archaeologist sifted through the computer data.

"I mean, the reason the Field Marshall is running away has become apparent." He looked up, eyes going to the wall-mounted screens ahead. "It's not good, John."

"What's he done?"

"There's a fusion bomb, a few levels below us. Same sort of thing they tried to use at the SGC. For all we know, there could be a timer on that thing, or the Field Marshall himself has a detonator." He tapped a further command at the computer, switching one of the surveillance feeds over to a view of a seemingly empty storage room. However, smack bang in the middle of it was a spherical device of a decidedly alien design, not unlike some of the other technology that the Field Marshall's people had at their disposal.

"And if you look here, from a little while ago," Daniel said, and he keyed in another command. The surveillance footage began to rapidly rewind, skipping back a good twenty minutes. As soon as he hit the 'playback' button, the pair of them watched as the Field Marshall walked into view, accompanied by two of his soldiers who carried the bomb between them. They set it down upon the floor, before the Field Marshall walked over to it and began to manipulate the bomb's small control panel. And in one hand, he held a small rectangular device, which he adjusted in turn. A detonator, John surmised. Not to mention, the bomb itself was probably on a timer. The Field Marshall really had covered all his bases.

"Can you stop it?" It was a stretch, as none of them were familiar with the technology of this particular alien species. Going down to disarm an alien bomb, when none of them actually knew how to read the control panel, would come with its fair share of risks.

"I can try." Daniel did not sound particularly enthused as to his chances. "I don't know what kind of power we can expect from a bomb like that. The one at the SGC was some kind of fusion device, so we're probably talking a good fifty megatons, probably more. Certainly far greater than any conventional nuke that's been detonated on Earth." He paused, as he considered what else to add. "Thing is, even if I can disarm it, the Field Marshall has a detonator. There wouldn't be much point in disarming it, if he can just set it off whenever he wants."

John nodded his head. He understood what had to be done here, perfectly.

"He's going to want to get out of the blast zone for that," John said. "I'll make sure he doesn't get that far. You don't think those phase-shifters can protect him from the explosion?"

"If they could, he would have set it off already. An energy release of that magnitude could scramble the devices, for all we know. I don't think the Field Marshall would chance it." Daniel was speculating, but he was right about one thing: the bomb had not been detonated yet.

John turned to the Marines, pointing at two of them. "You two, accompany Doctor Jackson to the bomb. Make sure nothing happens to him."

"What if I can't disarm it?" Daniel asked.

"Don't talk like that, Daniel." John might have phrased this as a joke, but the situation was simply too serious for that. "If you can get it above ground, out of the scrambler's range, we can beam it out. Drop it into space somewhere."

"Thing is, if it goes off underground the damage will be nowhere near as bad as a surface detonation," Daniel countered. "If I bring it up to the surface, I run the risk of putting even Las Vegas in danger."

"And if it goes off down here?"

"It'll probably put a crater in the desert that'll swallow up the city anyway." Daniel shook his head. "Both bad outcomes."

"You're saying it's better it stays down here?"

"I'm saying that moving it is probably our only option," Daniel replied. "I'll go down, see what I can do. But if I can't turn it off, or you can't get the detonator…" He trailed off; the implication was clear, as was the fact that he was essentially about to plunge headlong into a situation that could easily lead to his death. "I'll have to see what I can do."

John nodded in acknowledgement. It was not a pleasant thought, leaving Daniel down here with a fusion bomb for company, but it was their best option. John was no expert on nuclear detonations, but he did know that an underground detonation would at least protect any nearby population centres. It would probably cause an earthquake as well, hollow out a massive hole in the ground and probably throw up tonnes of radioactive dirt into the air. Yet even that was preferable to having a blast wave wipe out Las Vegas, for one, not to mention the closer, smaller towns that dotted the Nevada desert. They did not even know how big the explosion would be, for it could have the potential to obliterate the entire continent.

"Can we reach the Major?" John asked. Daniel shook his head, although a thought seemed to occur to him then.

"Not on these radios," he replied. "But this whole place is a communications hub, right? We should be able to hook into the systems here, get word out on that transmitter above us." He began to tap away at the computer once again, flicking from screen-to-screen. "If only to boost the signal on the radios themselves."

"Since when did you become such a tech expert, Daniel?" John spoke this as more of a light-hearted joke than anything else, something to break the ice that was the impending sense of doom gradually falling upon them all.

"You, ah, pick up a few things," Daniel replied. He took up the headset that had been sitting on the desk in front of him, speaking into the microphone carefully. "Major Johnston, this is Daniel Jackson. Can you hear me?"

There was a pause, with static resounding down the line. Making some adjustments on the controls in front of him, Daniel tried again. This time, the Major's voice broke through.

"_This is Major Johnston. Jackson, what the hell is going on down there?"_ Understandably, the stern-faced Major sounded a little annoyed, given the lack of recent updates.

"We've got a bomb, Major."

John started for the exit then, offering one last glance at Daniel as he briefed Johnston, and by extension, Jack, on the situation.

"I'm going after the Field Marshall," John said. "Tell them I might need helicopter support. Once I'm outside, I'll be in touch."

Daniel nodded his head, whilst at the same time explaining to the Major what had happened. John raced out into the corridor then, followed by one of the other Marines. As for the last Marine, John ordered him to remain behind and keep watch on the surveillance feeds in order to keep track of where the Field Marshall and his cohorts were going.

John ran full pelt down the corridor, recalling from the layout that had been on the computer as to where the Field Marshall was last sighted. It was generally a straight run, and from what John could remember of his past visits to Area 51, there was a network of old tunnels that ran under the desert for some distance. It would be easy enough for the Field Marshall to make good time in those, especially if he got himself a vehicle. And there would be plenty down there, as those tunnels were still in use to this day. From what John knew, there was some evidence to suggest that they wound their way through much of the country, even as far as Denver Airport, or the Ozarks in the American heartland.

He raced down the corridors, through the sterile grey ones of the modern facility, before passing into the somewhat grungier concrete tunnels that formed part of the older, Cold War-era network of underground facilities. It was not mere corridors he passed through, however, there were adjoining rooms here. Old chambers housing all manner of defunct military equipment, ranging from radio sets from the 1950s to things a little more recent and recognizable, least of all a few items even he was familiar with, picked up from his travels in the Pegasus galaxy.

* * *

After he had travelled some way into the depths of the facility, John tried his radio. He might not have been able to get a signal out to the surface (certainly not without considerable interference), but he could reach Daniel.

"You found the bomb yet?" John asked him. He moved quickly through a maintenance tunnel of sorts, weapon at the ready.

"_We're getting to it now,"_ Daniel replied. _"Thing is, if I go fooling around with it…"_

"Daniel, just do whatever you think you have to. If anything goes wrong, you tell the guy in the control room so he can get word out. If there's time to make a run for it, we'll do it. Point is, we can't just abandon ship. Not yet. That bomb could crack open the planet's crust for all we know, and we can't risk that." John stopped at a closed set of metal doors, thick old ones that looked like they had been placed here in the 1960s. They had to be nearing the tunnels now, where the Field Marshall had gone. Beyond this point, the surveillance cameras became less frequent, and as such the Marine in the control centre would not be able to keep proper track of their quarry.

He hated operating on such little information. They had a bomb, sure, but no one knew how to disarm it. Not to mention the detonator, which the Field Marshall no doubt clutched tightly to his chest in order to ensure his plan of destruction went through without a hiccup. Just what game was he playing it, really? Was his intention here merely to create chaos and destruction, or was there something more to it? There had to have been, unless he truly was out for revenge and little else. How did one fight an enemy with nothing to lose and no fear of death, when all they wanted was to destroy you and your world no matter what it took?

John paused at the set of metal doors ahead of them. They were closed, but thankfully not locked, and using the Cold War-era keypad by them resulted in a loud, groaning sound as the old doors began to slide open. A red light flashed above them, sending out an alarm wail, a noise that caused John to wince slightly as it was only serving to announce their approach. As soon as the doors were open wide enough, he squeezed on through, weapon raised. A tunnel curved its way somewhere distant, and John followed it some ways, accompanied by the Marine. They eventually came upon several parked vehicles, some covered over with dusty old tarpaulins. The Field Marshall and his team were here, and they were attempting to commandeer a few of these vehicles. Tarps were swept aside and clouds of dust kicked up into the air, as the Field Marshall's soldiers broke into a few of the old Humvees and attempted to get them started.

John moved in; submachine gun raised. The Marine behind him went to the left, onto a ledge that ran the length of the tunnel on their left. As soon as the pair entered the tunnel, the alien soldiers ahead turned their attention to the intruding humans. A few scattered, taking cover behind some of the old vehicles. They were armed with energy weapons, both the pistol and rifle variations, and John found himself once more on the receiving end of several searing white energy bolts. He raced behind the front end of an old Army Humvee, putting the engine block between himself and the enemy. He ducked as a few of the energy bolts clipped the hood of the car, burning the metal, causing the paint to bubble up from the heat. He leaned his head slightly around the side, spotting the Field Marshall further ahead. He had climbed into one of the cars, with one of his subordinates attaching some kind of alien computer to the ignition, no doubt as a means to get the engine started without the need for the keys.

White energy bolts lit up the darkened tunnel as the exchange of fire continued. The Marine cut down one of the aliens, sending its body slumping against one of the old cars, smearing purple blood in its wake. John returned fire at one of the aliens ahead, who had moved into view in front of the car that the Field Marshall had entered. This one caught about three bullets in its torso before it fell, purple blood spilling out around it. Something John saw on the car behind it made him pause, if only for a second. It was a young woman, very much human, who was seated in the passenger seat next to the Field Marshall. The Tok'ra operative, no less, someone whom John would very much have liked to take alive. At least that way they could get some proper answers as to why those snakeheads would help out these aliens, instead of simply going by the word of the representative who had paid them a visit earlier that day.

Much to his chagrin, he heard the familiar sound of an engine starting. The aliens had gotten one of the old vehicles working, and before John could do much more, the car containing the Field Marshall and his Tok'ra accomplice lurched forwards. With a sharp turn of the wheel, the Field Marshall sent it racing down the tunnel, headed for whatever exit awaited them at the far end. Now John knew he had to act fast, preferably before the Field Marshall reached the minimum safe distance of that bomb.

John leaned around the old Army vehicle and cut down another of the aliens, as it attempted to climb into one of the other cars. One of the windows shattered behind it as bullets tore through it, sending the alien crumpling to the floor. John emerged from cover then, weapon at the ready, as he moved for the other vehicles. The Marine on the left moved ahead as well, all while the sound of the Field Marshall's car gradually receded down the tunnel.

One of the other cars whirred into life then, headlights switching on, casting John in a brilliant white light that made him squint. He reacted before thinking then, spraying a volley through the windshield which, thankfully, was not bulletproof. Glass shattered and the alien in the driver's seat jerked and convulsed as rounds tore through him, part of his head erupting into a gush of purple blood and similarly coloured meaty chunks. John rushed up alongside the car, pulling open the door, gun at the ready. Instead, the alien driver almost fell onto him, and John had to step aside to allow the now deceased alien soldier to hit the floor. At this close proximity, the alien's blood carried a pungent odor akin to rotting fish, or better yet, what would happen if one killed a crab and left its corpse out in the sun for a week. Nothing pleasant, naturally.

The alien had been kind enough to start the engine. Before John could do anything further, another one of the Field Marshall's goons appeared at the other side of the car. John went to shoot, only for the alien to stumble as a rifle thundered from his left. The Marine had fired that shot, and the alien, wounded with a gaping hole blasted into its chest, spun around to face him. It let fly with a blast from its energy rifle, one that hit the Marine in the chest and sent him falling backwards with a flash of flame and puff of smoke. John blasted the alien through the window of the Hummer, peppering the defiant alien soldier with several rounds until the magazine on John's gun hit upon empty. The alien fell, its last vestiges of life gone, and John glanced at the Marine on the ledge nearby. He was not moving, and the large charred hole that had been blown into his chest suggested that he would remain motionless.

"Shit," John muttered. He changed the magazine on his gun, before he climbed into the already started car and closed the door after him. Putting his submachine gun to the passenger seat, he shifted the car into gear and slammed his foot onto the accelerator. The vehicle jumped forwards, before he rapidly spun the wheel so that its front end was pointed down the tunnel. Without further pause, he floored it, sending the old Humvee racing into the darkness of the tunnel.

* * *

"What the hell is going on down there?" Major Johnston was irritated, to say the least. Since the mention of the big bomb down below, they had not received any further updates. Jack had been lingering around the makeshift operations centre in the hangar, keeping track of what was happening underneath them, and he had to admit that he shared some slight degree of Johnston's impatience. Most of the personnel here had been ordered to clear out, with the base being evacuated. A bomb threat would do that. Jack had elected to remain behind with Johnston and the handful of key personnel who remained in the operations centre. John and Daniel were still underground, and he was not about to leave when they were still putting themselves at risk in order to stop these aliens.

"What do we know about that bomb, anyway?" Johnston was by the central table, where the main computers were located and their technicians operated. Jack stepped forwards then, figuring he had something to offer here.

"If it's anything like the one they tried at the SGC, it'll be some kind of fusion bomb. That one was supposedly enough to obliterate Cheyenne Mountain and the surrounding countryside."

"So it'll tear a chunk out of the desert and oblierate the entire base," Johnston said. "Not to mention, it could kick up a shit-ton of radioactive fallout. All that dirt it'll launch into the air, it could float its way over to a population centre, like Las Vegas. And then there's the fact that Area 51 is a crucial part of our communications infrastructure, which is probably why they used it as a ground zero for their computer virus." Johnston shook his head, as if he could not quite believe it. "How could we have let this happen? We had everything in place, security-wise. Sensors, checkpoints, scramblers. And these guys just waltz right in and turn it all against us." He looked at Jack, as if expecting him to provide answers. Unfortunately, Jack was as surprised by it all as the Major was.

"These guys could walk through walls, Major. Not much you can do to stop that."

Johnston did not appear convinced. From outside, a cool wind blew, wafting into the expanse of the hangar. It was enough to give Jack a chill. He looked towards the open hangar doors, onto the empty runway outside, and the odd silence present across the base as a whole. Save for the whistle of the wind, Area 51 was unusually quiet.

He might have considered it to be 'too quiet', if it were not such a cliché. Other than he and Johnston, there had to be about five other personnel present here. Everybody else had evacuated, taking most of the vehicles outside and the few helicopters that had been parked out there with them. There was still a chopper outside, thankfully, the last exit for those remaining on the base if that bomb could not be disarmed. Jack was confident that Daniel would sort it out, although that still left the Field Marshall at large. And if he had a remote detonator, then there was little else they could do until John got hold of it.

Jack's eyes went to the far wall of the hangar then, as something there caught his attention. Something unusual, yet strangely familiar, as a white shimmer seemed to cross part of the wall and the whole thing itself appeared to visibly _wobble_. He knew it then, and he turned to Johnston, who was speaking to one of the technicians, his attention set elsewhere.

"Major, get down!" Jack hit the deck five of the alien soldiers emerged from the wall, armed with energy rifles. As soon as they were through the solid surface, they shut off their phase-shifters and opened fire. White bolts of searing energy swept across the hangar, ripping into the computers at the central table, sparks flying. Monitors smashed, papers were charred and three of the technicians were cut down immediately. Johnston went for his pistol, a standard-issue SIG P320, and whipped it out of his waist holster with lightning speed. Even as the technician next to him was blasted, Johnston kept a straight face as he returned fire.

Jack kept low to the floor, his eyes going for the weapons leaning against the crates nearby. A few rifles, as well as one of the more intimidating automatic shotguns that he was familiar with. The AA-12, fitted with a drum magazine that made it appear more like a machine gun than as the devastating rapid-fire shotgun it was. Energy bolts seared overhead, leaving scorch marks and burning holes on the opposite wall. Johnston gunned down one of the aliens, right as an energy bolt found its mark at his chest. He stumbled, the force of the shot sending him falling backwards, white smoke wafting off of him as he went down. Jack managed a glance his way, seeing immediately the glassy, unblinking eyes and the complete lack of motion that had befallen the Major.

Jack was the last one alive here, and he did not intend on joining the others in death. Instead, he hurriedly crawled his way to the AA-12, wrapping his hands around it, all while he could hear the advancing footsteps of the alien soldiers. They were rushing ahead, intent on finishing off what little human resistance remained. Had they stayed behind deliberately, to ensure that the Field Marshall's bomb went off? If so, that meant they would go after Daniel next, and Jack could not allow that.

Jack's left knee ached from the sudden exertion, as did just about every other muscle in his ageing body. Damn, he hated getting old. Hands around the weapon, he flicked off the safety and quickly rose to his feet. The alien soldiers were just upon the central table. Jack's sudden rise must have caught them off-guard, as they had their weapons relaxed, a good second or two from being raised and ready to fire. Presumably, they had thought he had gone down in the initial volley, an assumption that would cost them dearly.

"This old General's not dead yet," he muttered, as he levelled the automatic shotgun and opened fire. The weapon thundered, again and again, a rapid chain of _thumps_ that echoed throughout the hangar. He swept the hail of buckshot across the four alien soldiers, the first going down with a sizeable chunk shot out of its torso. The other caught a good three shots, with part of its head erupting into an explosion of purple gore, before its left arm was blown away just after the elbow. Not to mention the two fist-sized holes that appeared at its chest, spurting blood. Jack winced slightly as one of the aliens let fly with an energy bolt, one that missed his shoulder by mere inches. He returned the favour by blasting this one a good three or four times, tearing its upper chest into ribbons before it finally went down. And finally, the last one, who managed a return shot that scraped Jack's left thigh and made him grit his teeth as burning pain erupted in its wake. Jack blew the fourth and final soldier away with the remainder of the magazine, tearing it apart with something close to ten shells worth of buckshot. Even after it had fallen, he took a step forward and kept shooting, until the magazine was empty and his sudden adrenaline surge was contented.

As the dust settled, Jack lowered the empty AA-12 and looked about the hangar. No further hostiles appeared. However, now the technicians and the Major lay dead. He was alone, save for Daniel, who was down below trying to disarm a bomb. Someone had to hold down the fort, and from the look of things, Jack was the only man present in such a condition to do just that. Besides, someone had to fly the chopper out of here, and Daniel was nott a trained helicopter pilot.

He limped a little on his wounded leg, and a quick glance revealed a sizeable burn had been left on his thigh from where the bolt had clipped him. The skin was red, blistered and otherwise peeling away. Eyeing the injury, he let out a sigh, figuring it to be typical that so soon after getting back onto the job he would get shot. Jack began to search for the first aid kit first and foremost, in order to keep this burn from getting any worse.

* * *

The fusion bomb was not much different to the one that had been found at the SGC. Unlike that one, however, this one had been armed. The flashing red lights on the small display on its top certainly indicated as much. Daniel found himself standing over the device, gazing down upon it, examining every detail. It was about one foot wide and spherical in shape, save for its flat bottom. Situated inside a storage room of sorts, it was out of place when compared to the rest of the room. Once again, it was built from the red-brown organic material that the Field Marshall's people used, further suggestion that this bomb's outer shell had been grown, rather than manufactured.

And Daniel was saddled with the unfortunate task of attempting to make sense of it all. The alien symbols scrolling across the bomb's small readout were incomprehensible. Had he some kind of reference point, he might have been able to make better sense of it all. As it stood, he had seen very little of this alien language. Now he was faced with a readout full of it, and what frustrated him the most was the fact that none of it made sense. He had deciphered alien languages before, but that had always been after he had spent plenty of time studying them. So far, he had been unable to properly study anything they had found at the Field Marshall's camp, and the situation had gone so rapidly out of control that actual study-time had been very limited to begin with.

He looked to the two Marines who had accompanied him down here. They had to be something like two-hundred metres underground, maybe more. Far too deep for any radio signals to get through, without the help of a large transmitter of sorts. That raised the question as to how the Field Marshall intended to detonate this bomb? It may have been on a timer, but even that seemed unlikely. He was on his way out, leaving in a hurry in order to escape the blast radius. He had a detonator with him, which must have been powerful enough to penetrate layers of concrete, steel and dirt.

Daniel always carried a Swiss Army knife with him, among other things, and he retrieved it now from a pouch on his vest. He ran his fingers along the readout panel, which was solid and artificial, yet lodged firmly within a spongy pink organic material. With one of the blades on the knife, he carefully cut away some of the material, revealing the edge of the readout screen. Now with that revealed, he gently worked the blade underneath it, testing it with a good degree of caution. One wrong move could set this thing off.

The readout screen moved slightly. He took a breath, doing so without realising, before he used the small blade to slowly lift the panel up. It came away with some effort, revealing a mass of purple and red wires underneath, all of them comprised of organic material. The whole thing looked like a nervous system, really, the wires themselves firm and stringy. The blades on the knife did little to cut into them. Of course, he did not try too hard, as he had no idea what cutting any of them might do.

How did the detonator work, if they had a few hundred metres of dirt and concrete over them? Daniel surmised that there had to be some kind of subspace technology at work, and who knew what exactly, especially if that Tollan scientist had assisted in the making of this bomb. Still, it made the most sense; sub-space worked on a whole other level of reality, and the Field Marshall could be halfway across the galaxy and still detonate the bomb with a minimum of delay.

There was no way he was going to be able to disarm this. John needed to get the detonator, yet even if he did, the bomb could still be working on a timer. They needed a third option, and none came to mind right then and there.

Daniel looked about the large warehouse space he had found himself in. The two Marines loitered nearby, keeping an eye on either entrance. They appeared uneasy, and this was understandable given the presence of the hulking big bomb in the room with them. Not only that, but they could not be certain that none of the Field Marshall's people were lurking nearby.

They had to get this up to the surface. It was a terrible idea, and the explosion, if it occurred, could prove more devastating. Yet it was their only chance. All it would need was one of Earth's starships to beam up, deposit it in space somewhere, and they would be in the clear. The only problem were the scramblers on the base that ensured teleportation did not work, and that radius continued for some distance out into the desert. A security measure, yet one that was now working against them. The scramblers themselves were hidden throughout the compound, and trying to find each one to deactivate them would simply take too long.

He had to do something. Poking around in the bomb's inner workings would be foolish, and likely result in a premature detonation. Still, he could not just stand here and wait for it to explode. They had to move it, and if they could get it above ground and onto a car or chopper, they might have a chance.

Daniel turned to the two Marines.

"Okay guys, I'll need your help." He put away his knife, before he reached for the bottom of the bomb. He could already feel that it was heavy, but not to worry; he had two young, strong Marines here to help him. "We're moving this." For all he knew, that could set it off. Thankfully, as he and one of the Marines began to heft it up, no loud beeping or sudden flashes of heat followed. They appeared to be in the clear, at least for now. The bomb itself was heavy, more so than Daniel had been expecting, and as he and the other Marine began to carry it for the exit, the archaeologist could already feel his arms aching in complaint. Not to mention his back, which was not as well-off as it had been in his younger years.

He persevered as they went through the exit and into the corridor outside. Now all they had to do was find a working elevator.


	44. The Wrong Kind of Tourists

**The Wrong Kind of Tourists  
**April 3rd, 2022

As the phony SWAT team moved onto the casino floor, the hour ticked over onto midnight. The start of a new day, not that Joanne noticed as she and Valkas rushed out of the security room. They had their guns at the ready now, Joanne clutching a shotgun, Valkas' gloved hands firmly grasping an MPX submachine gun. With the holographic disguises the aliens wore now inactive, the real, true forms of these impostors became apparent for everyone in the casino to see. Scores of civilians came face-to-face with actual aliens from parts unknown, and the panic started immediately.

Both Joanne and Valkas raced out of the security corridor and onto the casino floor. At either side, a group of the alien terrorists had made themselves known. People were shouting in horror as they laid eyes upon the bizarre and heavily armed aliens. Some began to run for the exits, only to hit the metal shutters that had come slamming down over them as per a security lockdown. Both Joanne and Valkas kept low as they moved into the bar area, all while more people started screaming, others running, and the speakers in the ceiling above them switched onto Underworld's late 1980s track 'Underneath the Radar'.

The first of the alien intruders opened fire onto a group of people at the slot machines on their right. Bullets flew, sparks erupted and glass shattered as the hail of rounds tore the machines to shreds. A few of the civilians closest were similarly shredded, gunned down with little regard for their lives. From elsewhere, a trio of security guards appeared, charging from around a corner with their guns drawn. They opened fire onto the group of intruders, but the aliens were quick, swivelling around and letting fly with a withering volley of rounds that tore into the security guards and send them falling with several fresh holes shot through them.

Joanne made her way through the bar area, her ears full of the sounds of gunfire, 80s club music, and the screams of terrified people. As she came upon the rows of slot machines, she ducked as several rounds struck those closest to her. One of the machines sounded off with a loud, celebratory jingle, before scores of coins came gushing out of the dispenser at its base. Joanne leaned around the row of machines, setting one of the aliens in her sights as the others began to spread out. Firing, she sent the alien falling with a large chunk blown out of its chest, purple blood gushing forth as it fell upon the carpeted floor. The others turned their attention to her then, and Joanne dived behind the machines as they opened fire in her direction. Bullets tore up the slot machines, the carpet near her and some of the seating off to her left. Wood splinters went flying every which way, and as soon as she hit the floor she began to scramble along the carpet, heading for the end of the row of machines.

Ahead, the second group of aliens had marched into the casino floor guns blazing, having been met with a pair of security guards with their guns drawn. Valkas joined them, his submachine gun letting fly with a controlled volley that sent one of the alien intruders falling. He moved behind a thick pillar by a roulette table as the alien intruders returned fire, assault rifle rounds tearing chunks of plaster and concrete off of the pillar.

Joanne's ears were full of noise as she rose to her feet again and leaned around the row of slot machines. Another alien stepped into view there, little more than a metre from her. He turned to her as she raised her gun, and before she could fire, the alien had lunged for her. He swung his rifle around in a quick strike, one that Joanne ducked underneath before she felt the barrel of her shotgun press against his stomach. She pulled the trigger, blowing out the alien's innards, splattering her arms, chest and face with pungent, viscous purple blood. She felt some of it splash into her mouth and right away she was trying to spit it out, a feeling of utter revulsion shooting through her, the foul taste smothering her tongue. Stumbling, she fell flat on her backside, with the barrel of her shotgun now stuck inside the cavity it had blown into the alien's stomach. Some of its innards fell out around it, and the alien itself slumped over her, the barrel of the gun pushing through its gut before poking out of its back.

Another one of them stepped into view ahead. Joanne could not free the gun, not right now, stuck as it was. Instead, she fired, her aim not as good as it would normally have been given that the weapon was impaling the dead alien that had fallen atop her.

The second alien's left leg caught the buckshot, blowing a chunk of its knee away before the rest of it bent at an unnatural angle. Very little was keeping the leg together, with one thick strand of muscle now doing what the whole knee was supposed to. The alien let out a guttural howl of pain as it fell over, its lower left leg practically tearing away from the rest of it. Joanne fired again, this time making part of its head explode into a mess of dark purple gore. As it fell over, its life leaving it abruptly, Joanne began to push at the dead alien slumped over her. He was heavy, more so than she might have expected, and the smell of the blood seeping out of him and all over her was enough to make her retch.

After a frantic couple of moments, Joanne was able to push the alien off of her, leaving it to slump onto its side next to her. Her shotgun, now free of its guts, was covered in a thick layer of purple blood. Bits of purple gore clung to the barrel and had even found their way inside it, not that it mattered much. Another shot out the end would send it all flying. Joanne, her uniform stained an odd purple, rose to her feet and backed up away from the dead alien.

Behind her, Valkas had engaged the other group and had so far taken down two of them. He dived to the floor behind a roulette table as the others returned fire, bullets tearing up the roulette wheel and the table itself, debris flying. Joanne crammed a few shells into her shotgun as she turned her attention to the pair of aliens across the way from her, over a large area taken up with blackjack and craps tables. By this point, the civilians had cleared out, at least those who had not fallen prey to the alien intruders. Several security guards lay dead, with Valkas and Joanne the only notable resistance still standing. If there were any more guards around, they were not on the casino floor.

Joanne opened fire on the two across the games area, sending one of them into cover behind a pillar. The other let fly with a rapid hail from the M4 rifle it carried, sending rounds tearing across the nearby blackjack tables. Casino chips went flying, as did numerous playing cards, before Joanne threw herself to one side as the hail of fire swept through the space she had just been occupying. On the floor, she could see the alien's feet through all the tables and chairs between them. Joanne put a shell downrange that tore off the alien's right foot, sending it falling upon its knees. This allowed her to shoot it again, this time blowing a hole through its stomach that sent it keeling over.

The other alien stuck its head around the pillar and swept rifle fire across the furniture before her. Joanne rose up and began running, bullets tearing up the casino floor behind her, hands clasped upon her shotgun. The alien switched to the other side of the pillar, meaning to catch her before she came upon its flank. Pausing in its shooting, it began to reload, and it was then that Joanne was able to get a proper bead on it.

Diving forwards, she fired as soon as she got a proper shot on the alien's torso. The buckshot tore through its chest and splattered blood onto the pillar next to it, before the alien stumbled, still standing and partway through loading its rifle. Joanne hit the carpeted floor ahead of her, and as she did so she worked the pump on the shotgun and fired again. Another chunk was blown out of the alien's torso, and this one sent it falling, the rifle leaving its grasp as it went down.

Valkas, nearby, had engaged two of the alien intruders. He let fly with a spray of submachine gun fire, bullets tearing up the bar area, tables and chairs being torn asunder. One of the aliens was caught in the midst of it, jerking and convulsing, purple blood spraying forth from each impact. This one crumpled into a heap upon the floor, with another throwing itself over the bar counter as Valkas swept his fire in its direction. Bottles and glasses shattered, all manner of liquor splashing everywhere. Valkas paused and began to reload, ejecting the spent magazine before cramming a fresh one in its place. As for the alien behind the bar, it rose up and returned fire, its assault rifle barking, the noise reverberating off of every surface around them. Valkas threw himself behind the nearest pillar, parts of it practically exploding from the rapid impact of the rifle rounds, concrete and plaster dust pluming forth. Back to the pillar, he took a moment to compose himself, his expression unreadable from under the cloth wrap and tinted goggles that covered his head. The alien ceased shooting, ducking behind the counter as it began to reload its gun.

Valkas stepped out of cover and fired a burst into the bar counter. It was little more than painted, decorated timber and plaster, so it was no surprise that the bullets tore right through it. The alien stumbled backwards, falling against the mostly broken shelves behind it, purple blood spraying across the glass surfaces and mingling with the many spilled drinks. The alien took with it several bottles of liquor as it fell down, riddled with bleeding holes, the rifle clattering to the floor at its feet. Valkas spun around, surveying the wrecked casino floor, bullet holes in the walls, bodies on the floors. He made eye contact with Joanne, who had risen to her feet across the bar area. For now, things had fallen quiet, save for the occasional shout of a panicked civilian from somewhere.

Another gunshot rang out then, from the far end of the open floor. Joanne ducked as a rifle round struck the table near her, kicking up a hail of casino chips. She spun around, eyes going for the lone alien at the far end, now retreating back for the door it had entered through. Another shot cracked through the air near her, and she felt her heart practically lurch in her chest as she felt the round miss her by mere centimetres, the quick brush of air against her arm telling as much. Raising her gun, she opened fire, putting a shell's worth of buckshot downrange and into the wall near the alien. It backed off as plaster dust exploded near it, pushing open the door behind it before disappearing into the corridor on the other side. Joanne started after it without thinking, racing across the casino floor whilst Valkas watched, a little surprised and slightly confused. He followed, after a pause, as Joanne barged through the door and into the short corridor behind.

It would have been a 'staff only' area, had anyone been around to enforce the rules. The alien took her around a corner, stopping just beyond it in order to fire a shot back her way. He was on the run, and he hardly took the time to aim, shooting as soon as Joanne rounded the corner. She ducked as part of the wall to her right exploded, but nonetheless she kept running. The alien threw itself through a pair of double doors at the end, both of which opened into a kitchen. As Joanne neared the doors, she slowed down, half-expecting the alien to be lying in wait on the other side.

Pushing open the doors, she took a step into the large kitchen beyond. A central bench occupied with stoves, friers and the like was just ahead, with a walk-in freezer at one end and an adjoining corridor to her left. Oddly enough, the alien was not present, not immediately so anyway. As she stepped inside, she paused, looking about the room carefully. It could have gone right on through to the next corridor, and she was about to head for the nearby door when the alien came charging out from behind the central bench.

Joanne spun around to face it, levelling her shotgun. However, it swatted the barrel aside, and the shot she fired ended up going into the wall. The noise was deafening within the confines of the kitchen, and while her ears began to ring, she found herself grappling with the alien as its hands grabbed hold of her shotgun and attempted to pry it from her grasp. It was strong, more so than any ordinary human, and she found herself getting pushed up against the nearest wall, all while the pair fought for control of the weapon.

She kicked it in the shins, but this did little to deter it. Looking at the creature dead in its black slit for eyes, she thought she detected anger from it, but it was impossible to tell. Its mandibles twitched as they fought, and she detected a hint of that fish-like smell coming off of it. She was covered in the blood of its friends, the smell from that bad enough on its own.

Joanne pushed herself off of the wall, only for the alien to spin her around and pin her to the central bench. Its hands maintained their grip on her shotgun, and it pressed the weapon hard against her chest. Joanne looked around her for something, anything that could help her turn the tide. Her arms were already aching, and this only continued to get worse as the fight went on. She needed to turn it around, almost literally, before she wore herself out further.

The doors swung open then, and Valkas barged inside with his gun raised. The alien paused, looking up and towards him. Interestingly, Valkas shifted his aim, firing a single shot that tore through the alien's right leg. Straight away, it let out a pained groan before it stumbled backwards, almost pulling Joanne along with it. The grip it had upon her gun loosened, and she was able to spin the shotgun around in order to point the barrel at the alien. However, Valkas moved in and promptly smacked the alien across the face with his gun, sending it onto the floor, hard. It was still alive, blood gushing out of its leg wound, but was otherwise unconscious.

"Why didn't you just kill it?" Joanne asked, as she straightened up and off of the kitchen bench. Valkas glanced at her and gave a light shrug in reply.

"We can question this one," he replied.

"We can't understand them."

"I'm sure we can reach an understanding." He walked up to the unconscious alien, before he knelt down and examined it closely. It was still breathing, the slight up-and-down movements of its chest indicating as much. "He can lead us to the rest of his friends."

Joanne did not say anything right away, rather she remained still as she tried to catch her breath. Sure, she was fit, she had to be for this line of work. Even so, a near brush with death was enough to make anyone feel exhausted.

The doors swung open again, and both she and Valkas spun around to face the newcomer. Instead of a hostile alien, it was Malcolm Barrett, and he regarded the pair with a mix of curiosity and uncertainty. Even more so the latter, as he laid eyes upon the fallen alien.

"Is that one…?" He began, only for Valkas to interrupt him.

"Still alive?" The Calsharan nodded his head. "It is. And I'm sure it'll have much to tell."

Barrett gave a curt nod in acknowledgment. He was followed into the kitchen by two men in black tactical gear, complete with 'NID' printed in large white letters on the back. They went for the unconscious alien, with one grabbing its arms and the other its legs. As they carried it off, Barrett regarded the pair with a face that suggested he was feeling a little awkward.

"The problem I face now is how we're going to dress this up for the public," Barrett said. "It'll be hard to explain away the presence of several aliens in a casino, with eyewitnesses numbering in the dozens."

Joanne shook her head.

"That's not what I get paid for, Assistant Director," she said. She motioned for Valkas to follow, as she started for the exit. "That's your job. I'm just here to get rid of the bad guys, whatever it takes."

Barrett did not appear entirely impressed by this statement, no matter how accurate it may have been. The Assistant Director remained standing in the kitchen for a little longer, his mind sorting through the many different problems he now faced, before he firmly concluded that there was almost no way they were going to be able to dress this one up. Not without setting off the conspiracy theorists, anyway.

* * *

Joanne went back out to the casino floor, before she plopped herself down on a stool at the bar. Sure, the bar was a mess now, and a dead alien was still lying on the floor behind it, but there was still plenty of liquor present. Behind her, several NID personnel were moving about, cleaning up the bodies first and foremost whilst questioning some of the civilians who had seen the whole ordeal. Some of those civilians were looking at her, no doubt recognizing her for her role in the shootout.

She ignored the curious gazes and reached over the bar from her seat, before her hands found their way around an intact bottle of bourbon. She was not a heavy drinker, by any stretch, but she did enjoy the odd bit of liquoir here and there, especially after a rough day. Her last rough day had been after the accident during her test flight at Area 51, and now today very much classified as perhaps a rougher day than even that one had been.

Valkas stopped next to her. He took a seat on the empty stool on her right, and he watched as she popped the cap off of the bottle of bourbon and poured herself a shot glass worth of it.

"You all right?" He asked her. There was legitimate concern in his voice, something that Joanne appreciated.

"I'm fine." She downed the glass in a single mouthful, screwing up her face at the taste. It was quality stuff, and likely expensive, so any opportunity to have some for free was not something she intended to pass up. Some might have thought it inappropriate to drink now, of all times, but she felt she was entitled to a short break.

"You're covered in blood."

Joanne nodded. Yes, she was covered in alien blood, and it continued to reek as if it were fresh out of the aliens themselves. It had so far started to dry all over her uniform, making it feel stiff in a few places.

"I suppose that's why people are staring," she replied.

Valkas reached up to his chin, pushing down the cloth wrap there so that his mouth was exposed. With that done, he reached over the counter and picked up a glass, before putting it to the tap and filling it with water. He took a hearty drink, before he wiped his mouth with one sleeve and moved the cloth back into place.

"You think I should keep up the disguise?" He asked her.

"Why? Getting too hot under there?"

"No, actually. It's surprisingly comfortable." He looked about the casino, his gaze going over to the group of civilians being led out by the NID operatives. The shutter over the main entrance had been forced open, and in typical fashion Barrett and his people had managed to break in _after_ most of the threats inside had been eliminated. Joanne supposed she should not be surprised at that.

"I just think that now these people won't be so surprised to see an alien," Valkas continued.

"I think that one set of aliens is enough for these people," Joanne said. "Show them another bunch and I don't know if they'll take it so well."

"Yeah, you're probably right." Valkas turned around, putting his back to the bar counter so that he could lean against it. "What do you think? We should help Barrett with that captive?"

"In a minute," Joanne said. She took a larger glass from the counter and filled it with water from the tap, which was just within reach. She gulped that down, found it a little more refreshing than the burbon had been. "I just need a break. Too much craziness at once. When I joined the Air Force, I never thought I'd end up shooting aliens in Las Vegas. Or having one for a sidekick."

"Sidekick?" Valkas turned to her. "Is that what I am?"

"What would you prefer to be called?"

"I'd say 'associate is a better sounding term," Valkas replied. "Or 'advisor'. That one sounds official."

"Uh-huh." He was joking with her now, she could tell. Sometimes she wondered how he did it, how he could remain so upbeat after everything that had happened. Then again, that was just it, was it not? Humour in the face of danger was nothing new. Everyone dealt with it in their own way, and Valkas' easy-going exterior was his way of doing so. For Joanne, sitting down, having a drink and simply giving herself time to coordinate her thoughts was her way of doing so.

"What will you do when this is over?" Joanne asked him. It was as good a question as any, and Valkas had so far offered all the information he could. First about Ra's fortress, then about his own people. The question seemed to take him off-guard, and he took a moment to think it over.

"I don't know." He shook his head.

"You don't want to leave Earth?"

"Maybe." Valkas sounded uncertain. "But I don't think this will ever be 'over'."

It worried her to think that he may be right. And who knew what kind of luck John and Daniel were having, over in Area 51? It could not be any worse than theirs.

Joanne finished up another glass of water before she slid off of the stool and started for the exit. Valkas followed after her, and the pair made their way through the front lobby and to the police and NID vehicles waiting outside. Barrett was here, standing outside a large black NID van, while two operatives hefted the unconscious alien into the space at the back.

"You ready to move on?" Barrett asked them. "My people have this place secured. No sign of any other hostiles."

"We're ready." Joanne's attention went to the unconscious alien. "What's the plan with that one?"

Barrett did not appear entirely sure of this himself.

"We'll learn what we can from it," he replied. "That's about all we can do, at this stage."


	45. Hitchhiker's May Be Alien Terrorists

**Warning: Hitchhikers May Be Alien Terrorists  
**April 3rd, 2022

John Sheppard floored it. The Humvee tore through the old tunnel, curving slightly as it wound its way underneath the desert. The walls were mostly rock and concrete, with lights spaced at intervals, some of which were no longer working. He wondered how much use a tunnel like this received, and if it was simply just some holdover from the Cold War. During his time working with the stargate program, he had only been required to visit Area 51 a few times. Not once had he been down here, in these tunnels, nor had he really paid a visit to any of the underground facilities. This tunnel was a new experience for him, and it surprised him just how far it seemed to go. He half-expected to pop up somewhere in New York, at the rate they were going.

Granted, he would have no such luck. The Field Marshall's car was speeding along up ahead, always just on the cusp of his line of sight, before it would disappear around a bend or into the darkness. John worked the Humvee hard as he tried to catch up, yet no matter what he did, it seemed as if the Field Marshall would always be that one step ahead. That was what infuriated him about this whole situation, that somehow the Field Marshall had been able to pull off everything he had so far with a minimum of difficulty. Just how much had he found out about how things worked here, on Earth? How much help had he received, from both the Tollan scientist and the Tok'ra renegade? When all was done and dusted, John could only wonder what the fallout would be. Nothing good, he figured, and there would be a lot of awkward questions being asked of not just him, but of just about everyone involved in the stargate program. He could see it now, the bare interrogation rooms, the fluorescent lights being pointed in his face, the government suits going back-and-forth as they asked question after question, most of which John would likely not have any proper way of answering.

That was something to worry about later. A bridge to be crossed, when he finally came upon it. Right now, he had an alien Field Marshall to catch, and so far the Field Marshall remained just out of his reach. The engine of the Humvee was positively roaring as he sent it barrelling down the tunnel, his hands gripping the steering wheel tight. It felt a little less under his control, if only because he was used to the manual transmission of his own car. All he could do here was hold down the accelerator and hope he could get the speed he needed, all the while he eyed the fuel gauge warily. This Humvee had been down here for a long while, and the fuel tank had not been full to begin with. Barely even half full, he noticed, and the prospect of running out of gas before he could get near the Field Marshall was a worrying one.

John flicked on his transistor radio, which was tucked into a pouch on his vest.

"This is Colonel John Sheppard, can anyone out there hear me, over?" He waited a moment, eyes fixed on the tunnel ahead. No answer, just static. "This is Colonel Sheppard, Major Johnston, can you hear me?" Still no answer. He was too far underground, and given its status as a top-secret facility, Area 51 likely had measures in place to block any radio signals going in or out of the underground facility. The teleportation scramblers were one thing, it was not a stretch to assume those extended to radio signals as well.

He was on his own. John caught sight of the Field Marshall's car in his headlights as they rounded a bend, this one coming out onto a straight where the walls became more rugged, with less concrete and more roughly-hewn rock. John sighted a door ahead, as did the Field Marshall, no doubt. His vehicle began to slow, and John did the same, although as he did so he became aware of a light beam coming in from behind. Headlights, he realised, and he glanced to the rear-view mirror, sighting the set of headlights and the Humvee that carried them. An alien weapon fired, the white bolt hitting the back window of his vehicle. The whole thing shattered, sending glass falling over the backseats. John put a hand to his submachine gun, and as he slowed the Humvee down, he raised it and pointed it back out the window behind him.

Firing it one-handed was a little awkward, but it was not such a heavy weapon as to be impossible. The gunfire was loud within the vehicle, the noise bouncing off of the tunnel walls around them. The windshield of the pursuing Humvee became riddled with holes, before it promptly shattered. The driver must have been a little startled, as he swerved slightly, sidling the vehicle up alongside John's. The Colonel, one hand on the steering wheel, the other on his gun, pointed the weapon towards the window on the passenger side. Through it, he could see the driver of the Humvee, another of the Field Marshall's alien soldiers. He was accompanied by a friend of his, who was leaning out of the passenger side, alien rifle in his hands.

John opened fire again, sending bullets pounding into the side of the vehicle. The driver's side window fell to pieces, only for the driver to pump the wheel hard and side-swipe John's own Humvee. The impact caused John to buckle in his seat, and the whole thing to careen slightly to the tunnel wall. His submachine gun fell from his grasp, clattering into the space between the seats. John had to grab the steering wheel with both hands, to keep himself from slamming into the wall on his left. Ahead, he could see the Field Marshall's car barrelling for the old blast doors that were closed over the mouth of the tunnel. A white shimmer seemed to envelop the Field Marshall's Humvee, and upon seeing this John knew what the Field Marshall intended to do.

Reacting quickly, John pulled the Tollan device out of his vest, clasping it in one hand. To his right, the pursuing vehicle grinded against his own, sparks flying, metal screeching against metal. His side-view mirror disappeared, crushed between the two vehicles. The alien driving it pulled up an energy pistol in one hand, and as it did so it backed off a little from John's car. This was to give it a little more room to shoot, and John found himself stuck in a suddenly awkward position. Tollan device in one hand, steering wheel in the other, he had to do something, and quick.

His foot left the accelerator and hit the brake instead. He felt himself lurch forwards in his seat at the sudden loss of speed, whilst the pursuing vehicle rocketed past. Ahead, the Field Marshall's Humvee hit the threshold of the old blast door. John hit the button on the Tollan device in turn, and right away he saw the image of the Field Marshall's vehicle seemingly wobble as it hit upon the old doors. Whatever near-magical phase-shifting technology had been in use suddenly cut out, like a television that had had its power plug pulled. Yet, even that was a little too late, as the Humvee found its rear-end fused into the doors, the rest of it having gone through to the other side. To the outside, John realised, which meant that the Field Marshall could still be very much alive.

John watched as the pursuing Humvee stopped short of the door, its tires screeching as the driver spun it around to face him. Tucking the Tollan device away, John brought the car to a halt, his right hand pulling the hefty Smith & Wesson Model 500 from the holster at his waist. The alien driver of the car ahead kicked it into gear, sending the vehicle racing straight for him. John took aim through the windshield of his car, both hands on the gun, as he took aim at the oncoming Humvee.

Shooting the large revolver felt like firing a small cannon, and the whole thing bucked against him harshly. The gunshot was more akin to a crack of thunder, and the windshield before him exploded into a hundred pieces that fell across the dashboard and hood. Nonetheless, the round fired went straight into the driver of the oncoming Humvee, and just to make double sure, John fired again. It was loud, almost too loud. Shooting it within these confines left him feeling a little deafened as the second bullet caught the driver square in the head.

The alien's head exploded into a pulpy mass of dark purple chunks. He fell against the steering wheel, sending it swerving to one side, straight into a nearby wall where it scraped hard against the rock. Sparks flew and paint was ground away, before the dead driver's foot finally came away from the accelerator. The car drifted to a stop nearby, firmly ground up against the tunnel wall. John flung open the driver's side door, moving around the car as he sighted the passenger who was climbing out of the stopped vehicle. John did not give him a chance to take another step away from the car before planting a bullet into the alien's chest, splattering purple blood onto the vehicle behind him. The alien crumpled onto the ground, dead, a fist-sized hole blasted through its torso.

Relaxing a little, John took a breath as he surveyed the end of the tunnel. It appeared clear, so he took the opportunity to reload the revolver before he stowed it back within his waist holster. With that done, he plucked his submachine gun out of the car and started to walk over to the doors. There, he took a careful look upon what had become of the Field Marshall's car. Indeed, the rear section was sticking out of the wall as if it were some bizarre art-piece, the metal of the trunk having fused with the thick metal of the old, Cold War-era bulkhead. Had John hit the button a second earlier, he might have fused the Field Marshall himself into the wall.

Now, he had to find a way to open the door. To the right of the doors was a small panel, beset with a few buttons. One of which was a large green one, which he could only assume was the means to open it. Walking up to the panel, he pressed the green button, which took a little more effort than expected. The thing had likely not moved for decades, and he felt it suddenly give way after some pressure. A green light switched on above the panel, and red ones began to blink around its housing. Decades-old gears began to turn, loudly, the metal groaning filling the end of the tunnel with noise. John took a step back, weapon at the ready, as the old bulkhead began to open. At least, it _started_ to open, dragging what was left of the Field Marshall's Humvee with it. It stopped after the doors had parted several inches, allowing the cool outside air to waft into the tunnel, but otherwise they moved no further.

John sighed. He supposed he should have expected as much. He moved to the narrow gap and carefully peered through it. There was a shorter tunnel on the other side, one that opened onto the desert, but was otherwise dark and packed full of old wooden crates, pallets and other general bits and pieces. From what he could see, the Field Marshall was not on the other side, nor any of his associates. Of course, they could be lying in wait for him, which was a concern, but John had little other choice but to continue his pursuit.

Moving side-on, he squeezed through the narrow gap between the doors, half-expecting them to close on him and crush him to death. That would be about typical of his luck recently, but thankfully no such thing occurred. He was able to move into the outlying tunnel, although now he had very little idea where he was in relation to Area 51. How far had the tunnels taken him?

As he stepped out into the outlying, junk-filled tunnel, he tried his radio again.

"This is Colonel Sheppard, anyone read me?" A pause. Static. Nothing else. "Anyone out there hear me? This is Colonel John Sheppard. I am in pursuit of the enemy. Major Johnston? General O'Neill?" Again, nothing. This was far from ideal.

Ahead, at the mouth of the tunnel, he could see a security checkpoint of sorts. A dirt road lead into the tunnel, and further back along, a wire fence formed a perimeter around the tunnel entrance. A small guard booth was just beyond the tunnel, but there were no guards in sight. John stepped out into the early morning hours of the Nevada desert, some time before sunrise, but well after midnight. It was strange, how being underground could throw off someone's sense of time. What had felt like a short while underground had instead been a solid few hours.

The security booth had been occupied. As John neared it, he noticed that one of the windows was broken, and the single armed soldier who had been standing guard there had been gunned down, his body slumped inside the booth's cramped confines. John's eyes fell upon the phone inside, a landline, and he reached over, taking it off its housing. His eyes went to the dirt nearby, and there he sighted a few sets of footprints, fresh ones, that trailed off for the partially open gate ahead. He would give chase, but he needed backup.

Not that backup would be coming anytime soon. The Field Marshall had killed the guard and, from what John saw now, cut the phone line. It trailed off the base unit a few inches, before the wire gave way to where it had been harshly cut. John dropped the useless phone, sighing once more. It appeared nothing was going right for him.

He was on his own. Until he could get word out, he would have to pursue the Field Marshall alone. For now, he had a set of tracks to work from, and he had picked up a few things from a friend of his when it came to tracking. That had been years ago now, but he figured he could dig out the knowledge if he had to. Starting for the gate, he stepped through the gap that had been left by the Field Marshall and his friends, and found himself faced with a number of tall, rocky mesas and buttes, with the dirt road winding its way between them. That was where the tracks went, so it seemed a safe bet to follow it.

Above, the sky above was packed with stars, even as the dawn hour neared. Time sure did fly, when you were busy trying to save the world.

* * *

At this late hour, the desert breezes were cold, more so than what John's outfit allowed for. He felt a chill as he traversed the winding dirt road, eyes on the tracks that he saw left upon it. He moved quickly, intent on catching up to the enemy as soon as possible. Preferably before the Field Marshall was far enough away to safely detonate his bomb. Hopefully he had delayed the Field Marshall by wrecking his vehicle, but there was not much stopping the Field Marshall from finding another one, especially since he apparently had the technology to start the engine of one without actually needing the keys.

Were there any towns around here? It seemed unlikely, given their proximity to the Area 51 perimeter. Still, John had no idea just how far they had come in those tunnels, and he had no map with him to try and discern where exactly he was now. All he did know was that he was in the middle of nowhere, on the trail of a ruthless alien military leader with a desire to cause as much damage to the planet as humanly possible. The Field Marshall had to know, that no matter what he did, he would be hunted down to the ends of the Earth. It was worrisome that he probably did know, and simply did not care. Someone like that could not be reasoned with, and were likely to be unpredictable, as John had seen so far. What other surprises did the Field Marshall have up his sleeves, so-to-speak?

John pulled his water canteen from where it was clipped to his waist. It was full, and he unscrewed the cap before gulping down about a third of the contents. He had no idea how long he would be walking around out here, and he needed to keep his energy up. Stowing the canteen, he pulled out one of the mostly tasteless energy bars he had packed, all while he followed the dirt road and came upon the point where it joined onto an actual, asphalt road. This one worked its way between a couple of rocky mesas, before bending out of view. John stopped by the side of this road, taking a bite from the energy bar as he searched for any sign of the enemy. No footprints on the asphalt, naturally, and little other evidence to suggest that they had been through here.

Of course, they had most definitely come this way. He knew this much. The only question was, which way had they gone? Left or right, or had they simply gone straight ahead, crossing the road and heading further into the desert plains ahead? He could check the other side, search for more tracks. It was so far the only real option he had.

John paused here, alone in the darkened desert by all appearances, with only the silvery glow of the moon above providing any real ample light source. He knelt by the side of the road, noting the last set of tracks here before they crossed onto the hardened blacktop. In the dust upon the edges here, there were some slight marks that suggested further footprints, and from the look of them they crossed straight ahead. Of course, the Field Marshall could have gone either way.

He heard something behind him, brushing in the dirt. John spun around, about ready to raise his submachine gun. Instead of the alien he expected to see, his eyes fell upon the curled up diamondback rattlesnake that had slithered from behind a nearby rock. It stopped a few metres from him, its head up as its beady little eyes regarded the human ahead. As if to warn him, the rattle on its rear-end shook rapidly, and despite the threat John lowered his gun. He put up one hand, as if to show the snake he was no threat.

"You just stay over there, buddy." John took a few steps away from the snake. He had plenty of distance between him and it, but these things were fast. Then again, people said they were more afraid of humans than the other way around, although John preferred caution in this scenario. Keeping his eyes on the snake, he put a few more metres of space between him and it, before he turned his back and moved onto the road.

He had to make a decision, then. One that could very easily decide the fate of this part of the country, if he made the wrong choice. Losing track of the Field Marshall would essentially ensure the bomb's detonation, and God-only-knew how much damage that might cause. John crossed the road, submachine gun clasped in his hands, ready to raise and fire it at a split second's notice. At the other side, he paused, eyes going to the rocky, stout hills ahead. Despite the darkness, he thought he had seen something, a shadow of movement, gone as quickly as it had appeared. It was too dark to properly tell, for all he knew it could have been a wild animal. His eyes went to the ground again, searching for further traces of those he pursued.

Instead, something bright and fast shot out from the top of the hill further ahead. An energy bolt, flashing through the night air, bright as day. John dived to the ground as the bolt zipped by him, leaving a sizzling mark upon the asphalt behind him. Keeping low and getting covered with dirt, John scrambled for cover behind some boulders. Another bolt darted out and struck the top of them, flinging shards of rock over him.

At least he was on the right track. John slowly edged his way to the side of the boulder, poking his head around the side in an effort to get a bead on the shooter. It was unlikely to be the Field Marshall himself. Certainly, if it was him it would save John some legwork. Instead, it was more than likely one of his lackeys, presumably here to create some delaying action. Slow him down and keep him from catching up to the Field Marshall. It was what John would have done, had their positions been reversed. Especially now since the Field Marshall was without a vehicle.

John remained behind the boulders as another energy bolt struck their other side. The gunman was hidden, amongst the rocks and the dry desert brush, not to mention the overall dark. He had some idea of where the shooter was located, but no real way to get a shot on him without exposing himself. Whilst behind the boulder, John took a moment to take stock of his inventory: one spare magazine for his MPX submachine gun, plus the one loaded in it right now; his sidearm, along with spare rounds for that; a pair of fragmentation grenades, a combat knife and finally one emergency flare. Not exactly enough to take on a small alien terrorist force with. Still, he had done more with less, and a loose plan formed in his mind as he pulled out the single emergency flare he held and twisted the cap on the end. The whole thing lit up, and bright red smoke began to pour from one end. Throwing it over the boulder, John sent it sailing some distance up the hill, before it came to rest amongst a cluster of dry, desert shrubs. Smoke bloomed from it, not to mention the searing red glow that emanated from its tip. Enough of a glow to cast the alien gunman within it, positioned up on the rocks like he was, partially shrouded by a small desert bush.

John leaned around the boulder again, acting as fast as his hands and his increasingly ageing body would allow him to. Taking careful aim, he fired a volley that caught the alien gunman in the chest. Three bullets, to be exact, all of which tore through the alien's torso and sent it falling off of its perch. The alien came tumbling down the rock hill, bouncing over rocks, an audible crack sounding with each blow, before it finally came to rest several metres away. Purple blood oozed out of the bullet wounds, not to mention the smaller cracks that had appeared on its exoskeletal form. John was dimly reminded of what might happen if he dropped a crab off a high perch, not that he was the kind of man to hurt an innocent crab. Still, it was easy to imagine what might become of such a creature's exoskeleton after tumbling down a significant height.

The gunshots had echoed loudly across the desert. If the Field Marshall was nearby, then he would have heard them, clear as day. John had to move, and that he did, rising to his feet as he surveyed the hills ahead for any further surprises. None appeared, and so he started on his way up the slope. He could only hope he was near enough to the Field Marshall to actually get a proper idea of his location.

John came to the top of the hill, and from there he was able to look down upon a sizeable clearing. Beyond that was a cliff-face, part of a larger set of rocky hills that went on for some distance. A mine entrance was here, with a dirt trail leading from its mouth and towards the highway. Old and seemingly forgotten, the mine was faced with a set of ramshackle wooden sheds and the like, with an entrance blocked off by a metal gate. Out the front of the entrance, John could make out a handful of figures, yet hr could not tell who they were from this distance. It was too dark, and the moonlight could only provide so much illumination.

A quiet whining noise caught his ear then, like an aircraft engine. He thought it seemed familiar, and he looked up, expecting to see some kind of aircraft. Instead, there was nothing there, despite the growing volume of the sound. He watched the night sky above, hoping to catch sight of the source of the noise, but nothing became clear. Not until he realised that there was a slight wobble against the star-filled sky, as if something reflective was up there, causing the light to bend…

A cloaked aircraft. One of the Field Marshall's transports, no less. This was his evac point. John knew then that he had only a few minutes to do something about this, despite being as lightly armed as he was. If the transport was cloaked, then he could only guess that it was not shielded. He knew from experience that more often than not, you could either cloak your ship or shield it; having both in place at the same time was not possible, not without an incredible amount of power at your disposal.

It was descending, he could see its outline now, the way the world behind it seemed to bend ever so slightly. The cloaking was not perfect, it was more a means of avoiding detection by sensors rather than outright invisibility. Even so, once it was landed and still, it would be next to impossible to see, beyond walking into it. John began to run down the slope then, hoping that the enemy would not notice him right away. He just needed to get a little closer, and as he ran he slung his submachine gun around one shoulder. With both hands free, he pulled out the two hand grenades he carried and raced for the descending transport. It had to be close, only metres from the ground. And John was charging headlong towards it.

The Field Marshall saw him then, racing across the clearing. He shouted something in his guttural tongue, an order to his two compatriots. Both of them raised their weapons as the landing craft parked itself in front of them. Invisible as it was, it was still solid, and both soldiers found their line of fire suddenly blocked, despite not appearing as such. At that moment, the ship decloaked, appearing as an identical model to the one that had been at Ra's fortress. The same kind of ship that John had ventured into there, and found what remained of Corasar, Valkas' former commanding officer. He wondered how many more of these ships the Field Marshall had at his disposal, as being a renegade from his own government he could not have had many.

The two soldiers were rushing around the ship now, in order to get a line on John. They were a little too late, as John came upon the back end of the transport well before they were on him. Pulling the pins from both grenades, he tossed them into one of the engines, which was still blazing hot from its journey here. He could feel the heat as he neared it, but he kept himself well off to the side to keep from getting singed. Once the grenades had left his hands and gone clanking into the engine port itself, John turned around and ran.

He did not have to wait long for the explosions. The blast thundered across the desert, a massive spout of flaming blooming forth as the engine exploded. The initial explosion of the grenades themselves was quickly followed by a larger, much louder one that sent the entire rear engine section of the transport erupting into flames. This detonation was louder, and it was the one John felt the most as he ran from the ship, the concussive shockwave knocking him hard into the ground. The desert around him lit up orange as the explosion roared up from behind him, the loud _thump_ dissipating rapidly in the open air, echoing across the desert for many miles. He put his hands over his head in an attempt to protect himself from falling debris, as smoldering pieces of metal came raining down all around him. As for the two alien soldiers, they had been knocked aside much in the same way he had, and it was this thought in mind that drove John into forcing himself back onto his feet quickly. Better he get up before they did.

A good half of the transport had gone, replaced with a smoldering mass of twisted metal and burning flames. The remaining half had tipped over, its nose resting in the sand, unable to balance on its one remaining landing leg. John wobbled upon his feet, a little dazed from the explosion, his eyes surveying the wreckage around him. One of the alien soldiers was slowly scrambling to its own feet, one hand reaching for the energy rifle that had fallen from its grasp. John swivelled around and hit it with a volley that sent it falling back into the dirt, motionless. As for the other soldier, only about half of it remained, nothing more than a pair of severed legs lying in the sand, purple blood pooling around them. Then there were the other pieces of it, scattered around with the ship's wreckage, charred and barely recognizable.

Something as reckless as what John had done might have got him in trouble back in the day. Of course, it had been his only course of action. Now he and the Field Marshall were on even terms, and the thought of this gave him some satisfaction, despite everything that had happened. Making his way around the wrecked transport, he glimpsed the Field Marshall running for the mine entrance, accompanied by his Tok'ra accomplice. They were all cast in the brilliant orange glow from the burning wreck, and as the Field Marshall stopped at the gate, he turned to look back at John. His alien features were difficult to read, yet John thought he detected anger there. And a lot of it.


	46. Ever Vigilant

**Ever Vigilant**

Life on the Calsharan vessel was strangely mundane. Natalia was offered some limited freedom, as well as a fairly comfortable, if sparse, room of her own. Naturally, she had an armed escort that followed her wherever she went. Two Calsharan soldiers, males most likely, in full suits of armour, each carrying a plasma rifle. If she went down the hall to the eating area, they would follow her, always a few steps behind, their faces hidden behind the yellow visors of their helmets. She never saw their faces, and she was not always sure that it was the same two. The shifts had to change at some time, and she figured it happened when she was fast asleep.

She could walk, and that was an overwhelming relief. Whatever they had done to fix her leg, it had worked, and save for the odd dull ache she found that she was as agile upon it as she always had been. The scars were there, but the leg itself was seemingly in perfect shape. This was something to mention when she got back to Earth (_if_ she got back there, as there was no telling what her alien captors intended for her). The Calsharans were advanced, perhaps more so than the Goa'uld ever had been, and despite Natalia's limited knowledge of the Ancients, she felt that more than a few things at their disposal must have had some foundation in the technology left behind by that long extinct race.

She wore a loose-fitting grey tunic, one that had presumably been made for female Calsharans, and as such was a good few sizes too big for her smaller human form. Her room was sparse, bereft of any personal touches, complete with a firm bunk and a small bathroom area. She had access to clean water, and food was available from the mess hall at the far end of this section of the ship. None of it was particularly appetising, coming in the form of pastes and bars that were no doubt nutritious, but free of any real flavour. No wonder Valkas had taken so well to the human cuisine on offer in the SGC; Calsharan military food was atrocious in comparison. It was a wonder morale was as good as it was.

It had been several hours since her awakening, and the ship had been travelling through hyperspace for much of that time. They had stopped somewhere for an hour or so, presumably some kind of supply run, before moving on again. Natalia was seated in her room for much of this time, and at the current time, she was resting on the bed when the door slid open without any real warning. Privacy on a ship such as this was apparently at a premium, as her captors did not even have the courtesy to knock before entering.

Toron strode inside, his eyes falling to her. He gestured to her with one hand, a beckoning movement, an order to follow. Natalia rose to her feet and walked after him as he left the room. He seemed tense, ill-at-ease. Something was wrong, and Natalia found herself gaining a similar feeling as she followed him down the hallway and towards one of the transporter pads dotted about the ship.

"Is there something wrong?" She asked him, as they stepped upon the pad. Her two escorts had remained behind, Toron seemingly content to be her one and only guard. He looked at her, yellow eyes narrowed, before he pressed a button on the display behind them. The doors slid shut and the transporter activated, the familiar tingling sensation lasting all of a second before the doors opened again. This time, they opened onto an unfamiliar corridor, one floored with soft blue carpet, the walls adorned with military regalia. A more official-looking section of the ship, unlike the utilitarian grey corridors of the crew areas she had been inhabiting so far.

"Someone is here to speak to you," Toron replied. He sounded annoyed, his face screwing up into a look of disdain.

"Is it someone I should be worried about?"

"He is from the Vigilants of Varondaar."

"The what?"

"It's complicated." Toron shook his head. "Varondaar is a city on our home-world. The religious capital. He calls himself 'Knight Two'."

"Right." Natalia had the strong feeling that she was about to be caught up in something well past her understanding. She did not pretend to understand what she was being told even now, as it seemed likely that things would become clearer as they went on. Especially when she met with this 'Knight Two'.

"What you need to know is that they are an old order of self-styled protectors, and they have a heavy influence in our government's affairs. Not many people follow the old religions anymore, but the Vigilants still retain their power. I would suggest you be careful when you speak with him. He is here to interrogate you, and I do not know how he intends to do it."

"You mean, he's going to torture me?" And everything was going so well. Even after what Sheppard and the team had done, shooting up the hangar. Her captors had not hurt her and had more or less left her alone. Toron's orders, no less, as he seemed intent to keep the situation from devolving further.

"Maybe, maybe not. I was not made privy to such details." He stepped out of the transporter, with Natalia following him. She did so reluctantly now, a futile effort to delay her meeting with this newcomer.

"I have made it clear to him that you are not to be harmed," Toron stated, as they moved down the corridor. "You are our means of avoiding a far worse confrontation with your people. What worries me is that my superiors believe such a confrontation would go in our favour. Perhaps, but it will be at too high a cost. And I would prefer to avoid any unnecessary bloodshed."

That was only slightly reassuring. Toron wanted to avoid a war, that was why he had kept her alive. His own Commander was being held captive, probably back on Earth. Natalia was his bargaining chip, and the thought of leaving her in the hands of this 'Vigilant' was very clearly worrying him. Yet he acted on orders, and the authority that this 'Knight Two' had far exceeded his own.

Toron lead her to a door at the end of the adorned corridor, where two armoured Calsharan soldiers stood guard. The armour these two wore was shiny and chrome, unlike the deep black on the regular soldiers. Polished to a sheen, Natalia could see herself reflected in it very clearly. The visors on their helmets were a deep blue in colour, and both soldiers carried shorter carbine variants of the plasma rifles the regular soldiers carried.

Toron bowed his head slightly to the pair of lavishly armoured soldiers, before he spoke in the deep, guttural tones of the Calsharan common tongue. Natalia did not catch a word of it, and whatever translation-technology that worked in conjunction with the stargate was not in place here. Either that, or measures had been taken to nullify its effects. All the easier to keep secrets from their captive, and Natalia once again felt an increasingly sinking feeling in her gut.

The two soldiers parted after a brief exchange, with one turning to the control panel behind him. He pushed a few keys and the door slid open, revealing a large office. With blue carpet underfoot and the Calsharan military insignia emablazoned across the far wall, the office straight away indicated some level of importance. There was a statue in one corner, almost life-size, and Natalia found her eyes drawn towards it. Bronze in colour, gleaming in the white light from the fitting above, it was the form of a female Calsharan, lithe in appearance, outfitted in a combat outfit of sorts that made sure to accentuate her every curve. Both strong and seductive, Natalia mused, a mix of the feminine and warlike. A dangerous combination, some might say.

There was a male Calsharan seated at the desk. He was outfitted in a black uniform, one adorned with medal and ribbons not unlike a decorated General on Earth. Some things were universal across the species, it seemed. He was older than Toron, his skin a dull grey in colour, his eyes a pale blue. They looked towards Natalia as she entered, and he placed aside a palm-computer he had been looking over as she walked in. Toron followed closely behind her, and he offered the older male a curt nod.

"The prisoner, as requested," he declared.

'Knight Two' returned the nod.

"Very well. You may leave, Lieutenant."

"Sir, if I may, I wish to…"

"You wish to advise me to not harm the prisoner." Knight Two let out a huff. "I have taken that under advisement, Lieutenant. You may leave."

Toron seemed to linger a moment more. Natalia turned to him, noticing his reluctance, before a sharp glare from the older male sent him moving. The door closed behind him as he left, leaving Natalia alone with the new arrival. That was why they had stopped, earlier. To pick up this important official, along with his two shiny bodyguards. There was something to be said for the Calsharan penchant for fancy dress, as Knight Two's uniform was truly decorated. He wore his awards in full view, proud to show them off and no doubt commanding respect from his underlings as he did so. Natalia was reminded of those stereotype South American dictators from time's past (and more recently, even). Generals and the like who went everywhere in uniform, making sure their many medals were on display, no matter how impractical it might have been. It seemed that the higher-ups of the Calsharan military were not above such pomp.

"Natalia Tarasova." The Calsharan was tall and broad, like most of his kind. He eyed her carefully, blue eyes seeming to take in her every inch. It was a little uncomfortable, and Natalia shifted uneasily where she stood. "That is your name, isn't it?"

"Yes, it is." Her voice sounded a little quieter than she would have preferred. "Who are you, really?" Now she cleared her throat and spoke at her normal tone, putting what force she could muster behind it.

"You can call me 'Knight Two'," the Calsharan replied. "I am a member of the Vigilants of Varondaar. We protect our people and their interests through whatever means at our disposal. Perhaps you have something similar, where you come from?"

"Maybe."

"You would be better off answering my questions to the fullest of your ability and knowledge," Knight Two stated. "I have no intention of hurting you. I only wish to converse with one of the humans from Earth. You and your friends caused a lot of problems here, even killed several of our soldiers. Yet you also abducted one of our most respected military commanders. Hence, Lieutenant Kavellan has seen fit to keep you alive. A means of bargaining for the Fleet Commander. Your people would not simply abandon you, would they?"

Despite the circumstances, Natalia got the impression that Knight Two was telling the truth. At least, for now. He might change his mind about the whole 'not harming her' part.

"I know they wouldn't," Knight Two continued, answering his own question. "The people of Earth have a reputation in some regions. We have been in contact with some primitive human cultures who have interacted with your people, on more than one occasion. Not to mention all you did against the Goa'uld. The reputation you have, is that of meddlers. Meddlers and thieves, first and foremost. You may have done some good, but along the way you make sure to take what you can use to give yourselves an even bigger advantage."

"Is that so?"

"We know it to be so. The star-ships you have at your disposal are based upon technology not of your own devising."

"And what about here?" Natalia was not about to just stand back and take this hypocrisy. "The transporter pads here, they're Ancient in design."

Knight Two quirked one brow-ridge.

"Are you certain?" He sounded very self-assured. "We have had centuries to develop that technology. We did not simply lift it from some Ancient facility. Nor were we gifted it by the likes of the Asgard. No, we earned our advancements. Your people, on the other hand, did not." Knight Two shook his head. Natalia did not entirely believe him, even though he appeared utterly convinced of what he was saying.

"Sounds like you have all the answers," Natalia said. "Why do you want to talk to me?"

"We know enough. What I want from you are details. You caused a stir here, not only on this ship but back on the home-world. Many of those in my government see you as a threat. A threat that they would very much prefer to be rid of, before it gets any greater."

"You're saying you'd attack us?"

"Not at this stage. I would prefer to avoid a war. One right now would be inconvenient, more so than you might realise."

"So, why am I here? You want my assurance that we won't attack you?"

"You don't even know where our home-world is," Knight Two remarked. "You wouldn't be able to attack us, even if you wanted to. Even if that renegade, Valkas, gave you the information, it is doubtful you would be able to penetrate our defences. No, I am here to observe you and what your people do when it comes to the inevitable exchange for the life of our Fleet Commander. If anything happens to her, then you can mark my words, there will be a reprisal."

Natalia found herself in the middle of something far more volatile than she had first suspected. Not to mention what might become of her, if Cassalis was killed for whatever reason. Being stuck on this ship, the only human on board, with a bunch of aliens just itching for an excuse to hurt her was hardly ideal. She could only hope Sheppard and the others had not been too rough with their prisoner.

"There is potential, of course, for our people to become friends," Knight Two continued. "There are greater threats out there, greater than the Goa'uld."

"Is that why you're mobilising?"

Knight Two seemed to pause then, caught off-guard by the question. He smiled at her, bearing a set of pointed teeth that were, despite his age, pearly white.

"Very astute, Natalia," he replied. "Someone around here has a much bigger mouth than is healthy. You might say that we are preparing ourselves to face powerful foes. One of them could easily be your own people, depending on what happens next." He paused for a moment, and his eyes went over to the door then as it slid open. Toron appeared, and once again he gave the Vigilant a curt nod as he walked inside.

"We'll be arriving at the Earth's star system within an hour," Toron announced. "Whatever you want to do with the prisoner, sir, I suggest you make it fast."

"I was just about to finish up." Knight Two's hands went for his palm computer then, and Natalia sighted on its display something that looked like a medical report, if the anatomical layout she saw was anything to go by. It was gone from her sight before she could get a better idea, yet it occurred to her that they would have taken all kinds of readings from her when she was in their medical bay. Blood samples, even, easily taken when she had been unconscious. The question was, why would Knight Two be perusing her medical information?

"It was interesting, meeting you," Knight Two said. Natalia met his gaze, and she was surprised by the friendly smile he gave her. He held out one hand, to shake. She did not take it, and instead moved for the door, where Toron was waiting.

"I hope your people are looking after our beloved Fleet Commander. For all our sakes." He called this out to her as she left, accompanied by Toron. The implications were clear, and they did nothing to reassure Natalia.

* * *

"What was that all about?" Natalia followed Toron back to her room. He appeared somewhat more relaxed now, as if relieved that the so-called 'Knight Two' had not killed her. As they stepped back into the transporter, Toron turned to her, offering her a look that suggested some amount of confusion.

"I don't know," he replied. "The Vigilants of Varondaar are a secretive bunch. They reveal little to those outside of their order, yet they are granted a significant amount of power and influence. It goes back in our history, from the time of the unification. As for their origins, I'm afraid history was never my strongest subject." He tapped a button on the display at the wall, and the doors slid shut before the brief, fleeting sensation of teleportation wrapped over the two of them. It was over in an instant, and the doors ahead slid open onto a familiar grey corridor on the lower decks.

"He didn't exactly 'interrogate' me."

"And for that, you should be grateful." Toron stepped from the pad, with Natalia following suit.

"Is his name really 'Knight Two'?"

"Maybe, maybe not. As I said, the Vigilants of Varondaar reveal very little about themselves to anyone not within their organisation." He led the way back to her room, where the two regular guards were standing by the door. They gave their commanding officer a curt nod of acknowledgement, before the door opened and Toron ushered her inside. He seemed intent to keep her under lock and key, as if worried something might happen to her. In turn, that would only jeopardise his chances of getting the Fleet Commander back safely. Natalia knew that it was not any real genuine concern for her that he felt, rather for what her death might mean for his plans to rescue his superior.

She made her way over to the firm bunk bed and sat down upon it, aware that Toron was still standing in the room. She quirked one eyebrow slightly, gaze going to the burly alien officer.

"Something else you want to say?" She asked him.

Toron appeared to take a moment to think it over, before he appeared to elect otherwise and slowly shook his head.

"I only wish to keep you from harm," he replied. "You are better off remaining here. I will have the guards bring you food."

"So, less than an hour until I'm home?"

"Ideally. There is no telling what your superiors on Earth might do, when I contact them. It could take some time before we can arrange an amicable trade."

"And your friend, Knight Two, is okay with this?"

"Apparently so. He would have informed me otherwise." He stepped for the door, before he paused at the threshold, offering her one last glance before leaving. "You would be surprised, Sergeant Tarasovna, by the number of my kind who would prefer to avoid a war."

"Really? Because I was totally convinced this huge war-ship was just for show." Her idea of a joke, one that Toron did not react to, as he turned around and left without even acknowledging her words. Once again, Natalia found herself alone in her 'quarters', under lock and key, not to mention watched by two faceless Calsharan soldiers. If anything, she was only more confused after her discussion with the so-called 'Knight Two'. There were many elements of Calsharan society she knew little of, even after her time spent on this ship. At a glance, they seemed heavily militarised, even warlike if only because of their somewhat reptilian visages. Now, though, she was not so sure.

* * *

"I refuse to answer your questions. And I will continue to refuse, no matter what you do to force me to divulge information."

Fleet Commander Cassalis held her head up high, defiant and haughty, not to mention self-assured. An hour of attemping to converse with her, get her to answer a few basic questions and otherwise get through to her in some way had yielded very few tangible results. General Janssen was tired, more so than he had felt for some time. The attack on the SGC had been bad enough, not to mention the alien terrorists now on the loose in Nevada and Colorado. That might have been something he could manage, as this job was all about stress management. However, compound that crisis with this latest alien prisoner and her primma-donna attitude, and he felt as if he could very well strangle someone and not feel at all bad about it. Preferably, he would strangle the Fleet Commander, who sat across the table from him with her hands cuffed in front of her, resting upon the desk.

Janssen was not alone. Someone from the IOA was there with him, although it was not McClintock. It seemed that Darren McClintock had been very recently relieved of his position here, at the behest of one of his superiors. That very superior came in the form of Deputy Director Richard Woolsey, someone whom Janssen had met in passing on a few occasions. The man was a bureaucrat, certainly, but not to the extent that McClintock had been. At least, not when one took into account his off-world journeys, not to mention his time in charge of the Atlantis expedition.

The man was certainly getting on in years now, bordering on seventy. Even so, he did not look that old. In fact, Janssen might have been convinced the man was only as old as he was, had he not read Woolsey's file. The first thing Woolsey had done, when arriving in the SGC, was apologise profusely for McClintock's actions.

Woolsey was in a black business suit, with white shirt and black tie. His eyes were set on the document before him, a preliminary report on the Fleet Commander and what they knew of her. It was mostly blank, save for the obvious details: Species – Calsharan; Sex – Female…

"I understand your reluctance to speak to us," Woolsey said, his voice level. His eyes, behind a set of narrow spectacles, looked up from the report and met the Fleet Commander's eyes in turn. "But you have to see it from our perspective, Commander. You abducted five of our people and one of them was killed during an escape. You have shown us plenty of reasons to be gravely concerned, as your species has at its disposal weapons and ships capable of attacking this very planet."

"And you'd do well to fear us, human." Cassalis' voice became laced with venom. To his credit, Woolsey did not even blink, as Cassalis started on another tirade. It was not the first one she had done during this discussion, and it probably would not be the last. "We could level this world, without a shadow of a doubt. Reduce the entire surface to ashes…"

"Which is exactly what isn't going to happen," Janssen interrupted. He rubbed his eyes, humid as it was inside the sparse interrogation room. There was little else to look at in here, with the grey walls, lone metal door and white fluorescent lights above them. The air vent in the wall was not helping much to reduce the growing stuffiness within, a possible result of damage incurred during the alien incursion earlier that day. Not to mention, it was about five o'clock in the morning and Janssen was overdue for some well-deserved sleep. That had been his plan, until Woolsey, seemingly as active as he would have been had it been midday, came barging in with orders to question their latest captives.

The other alien, Aithris, was up next. And from what Janssen had gathered, he would have far more to say and was not the aristocrat that Cassalis appeared to be.

"You come after us," Janssen continued, "And we'll meet you toe-to-toe without hesitation. Your scare tactics won't work on us. We've faced far worse."

"Easy, General. Let's not antagonise her anymore than we have to." Woolsey offered the General an uneasy smile, and it did little to reassure him.

"Have you really?" Now Cassalis' tone changed. She leaned forwards, her orange eyes set firmly upon the General. "I'm well aware of the conquests of the people of the Tau'ri, of Earth. The world from which human life first spread across this galaxy. You dismantled the tyranny of the Goa'uld. A bunch of psychotic megalomaniacs with god complexes and, more often than not, a poor understanding of military tactics. Not to mention the Replicators, defeated by a powerful Ancient weapon, one that your people needed outside help to activate. And the Ori as well, I heard all about them. They didn't come near us, if only because they were too busy with the rest of you. Another victory achieved by an Ancient weapon. Can you see a pattern here? I can, and it doesn't speak well for the abilities of your people.

"You see, General, my people keep to themselves. We have done so for nearly a thousand years. But in doing so, we've allowed the likes of you to run rampant across the galaxy, doing more harm than good in most cases. You see yourselves as galactic police. I'm here to tell you that you are galactic _pests_, and you would do well to stay out of our way."

"We saved countless lives by destroying those threats you mentioned." Janssen's patience was wearing thin. He contemplated standing up and hitting the haughty Fleet Commander, giving her a solid right hook across the jaw that ought to set her head ringing. Of course, she was Calsharan, and they were generally sturdier than humans. A blow like that might not hurt her as much as he wanted. Not to mention, it would probably make the situation worse. If she broke out of those handcuffs, set her claws to either of them, then they would have a real fight on their hands.

"And created new problems in the process," Cassalis countered. Woolsey was making notes now, tapping them into his small notebook computer. No doubt preparing some detailed report for his friends at the IOA to gawk at, as they discussed the threat presented by Cassalis and her people.

"We dealt with the Lucian Alliance," Cassalis continued. "Wiped them out. The vermin deserved little better. And that was a problem your people created."

"Might I ask, Commander, how you came upon the Lucian Alliance?" Woolsey asked this question, and Cassalis set her eyes upon the man, a look of sheer contempt blazing within them. "You just said your people have an isolationist policy. According to Valkas, that includes your home-world and a handful of colonies in neighbouring systems. So, what I would like to know, is how your people came to encounter the Lucian Alliance? From our knowledge, they stuck to the more populated human-inhabited systems, all the better to implement their criminal empire."

Now this question caused Cassalis a noticeable pause. Woolsey and his legal background had paid off once more, and the man was asking the kind of questions that would make a politician fumble with their words. Janssen could not help but smile then, as he realised what the implication here was.

"Valkas and our Colonel Sheppard said you were mobilising," Janssen said, breaking the awkward silence that had fallen upon the room. "I take it you've done far more than just 'mobilise'?"

"I don't have to answer these questions," Cassalis barked. She sat back in her chair, once again managing that haughty demeanour of hers.

"I think we've learned all we can," Woolsey said, and he closed his notebook computer. He turned to Janssen. "Anything you would like to add for the record, General?"

"Not at this stage." Janssen rose to his feet and walked over to the door. He knocked upon it, and one of the two airmen standing guard outside opened it up. The other came in, heading for Cassalis, who squirmed as he laid a hand on her shoulder in order to coax her out of her chair. He let her go, getting the message, as she stood out of her chair on her own accord and headed for the exit. She eyed Janssen as she limped by him, and the look in those orange eyes of hers was not a friendly one. As soon as she was out of the room, Janssen turned to Woolsey. The man was gathering his notebook and folder into his briefcase.

"What do you think?" Janssen asked him.

"From what I could gather, the Fleet Commander strikes me as an aristocrat. It would suggest some level of hierarchy to Calsharan culture that we were previously unaware of. She is the kind of person very much used to getting what she wants."

"I don't give a damn about her social status," Janssen stated. Woolsey picked up his briefcase and rose from his chair. "What I mean, is what you think about the situation. About what we may have just learned."

"That the Calsharans have begun invading human worlds?" Woolsey shook his head. "There isn't much we can do about that, General. We haven't heard word of them from any of our off-world allies. It is likely that they stumbled into the Lucian Alliance by accident on an exploratory mission and conflict erupted."

"That seems unlikely."

"I'm simply trying to find some other explanation that doesn't spell 'war'." Woolsey started for the exit. "God knows we've had more than enough of those."

"But you don't believe your own theory."

"You could tell?" Woolsey stopped by the General, looking down for a moment as he considered what this meant. "I did not come here expecting to meet yet another threat to Earth. Yet that is exactly what happened. I trust you will keep the Fleet Commander detained until we can best decide what to do with her?"

"Off to tell your friends?"

"Colleagues, General. They're hardly my 'friends'." Woolsey paused briefly, and the look in his eyes was a serious one. "I sincerely hope these Calsharans do not become a problem, General."

"They already have." Their list of problems was beginning to grow long. "Not to mention all the other ones we've got in front of us right now."

"Such as your suggestion that the IOA has been infiltrated?" Woolsey was still unconvinced of that one. "Darren McClintock was working for someone outside the organization, certainly. But that was simple corruption, hardly the sign of a vast conspiracy."

"I beg to differ," Janssen said.

"Don't worry about it, General. I've already launched an investigation into McClintock's actions, and that includes finding out who he was really working for. It's funny, you know. McClintock came highly recommended, with some very glowing references."

"I'm sure he did."

There was another pause then, before Woolsey gave the General a nod and left the room. Janssen remained where he was a little while longer, mulling over their unfortunate situation some more. Knowing his luck, things were only going to get worse.


	47. Underhalls

**Underhalls  
**April 3rd, 2022

From one dangerous situation to another, it seemed. Joanne found herself back at the NID's operations centre, which was essentially a commandeered city council office not far from the Las Vegas Strip. She had managed to sneak in some rest after returning from the casino where she and Valkas had put a halt to the attempt the alien infiltrators made at killing a whole bunch of innocents. Somehow, somewhere, they were getting around the city without drawing attention. That might have been easy enough with their holographic disguises, but with helicopters periodically setting off high-frequency bursts over the city, it was becoming increasingly unlikely that these aliens were able to continue using them. And yet, they were still thin on leads as to where the remainder of the alien intruders were hiding.

Joanne yawned, still tired. An hour's sleep did little to make her feel better, and a quick glance at the digital clock on the wall revealed that it was about five in the morning. There were several people milling about the main office area, mostly NID personnel, with some regular cops thrown into the mix for good measure. Valkas stood off to her right, his features still hidden underneath his cloth wrap and tinted goggles. He looked out of place in that getup here, not to mention his noticeably larger stature. Regardless, no one here gave him a second glance. There were stranger things to be seen in this city, especially now when there were aliens on the loose performing acts of domestic terrorism.

There was a map of the city spread out before them. Joanne had been awake for about ten minutes, after having found a quiet spot in one of the empty offices upstairs. Valkas had barged in suddenly, waking her out of her slumber and telling her that he may have worked out how the aliens were getting around. Now the two of them stood by the main map, while Valkas used a red marker to map out the reported sightings that had been corroborated from various sources, essentially creating his own reference map. He was strangely adept at it, for someone who was not of this world and had never been to Las Vegas before. As Joanne watched him, slightly confused, the lights within the office struck her as strangely brighter than normal. They hurt her eyes, and she squinted while she watched Valkas pull out another map. It was a copy of one much older, freshly printed it seemed.

"Back home, in the city where I lived, there was a maze of old tunnels underneath. Catacombs, bunkers, all manner of things. Nowadays, a lot of disaffected people live in them. The homeless, mainly, even a few fugitives. Unlike here, my world does not have much of a homeless problem." Valkas moved the older map over the new one, and Joanne saw that it had been printed upon somewhat transparent paper. The scale of the maps did not match completely, but the parallels were apparent. Sightings had occurred within proximity of major access points to a labyrinthine network of old tunnels that ran under much of the city.

"I thought that maybe this city had something similar," Valkas continued. "I remember seeing a documentary on it once, on television shortly after they moved me into my quarters at the SGC. There are old flood tunnels underneath the city."

"You learned this from television?"

"Many of the homeless in this city live in them," Valkas said. "They're quite extensive. I had one of the people here dig this map out of the city archives."

"You've been busy." Joanne was amazed that an alien, of all people, had uncovered what none of them had been able to. Even she had been unaware of the extensive nature of the tunnels underneath the city, and yet here was Valkas, more aware of it than she was despite the fact that he was from another planet. She wondered what else he had learned from television.

"I figured there was a good explanation as to why they were popping up seemingly at random," Valkas replied. "It can't always be a cloaked ship or holographic disguise. They're using the tunnels, like rodents. Jumping out wherever they please."

Joanne had had her fill of dark, smelly and rank tunnels at Ra's fortress. She did not particularly savour the prospect of going into another set of similar tunnels, and in some ways these ones were likely to be worse. Whereas Ra's fortress had been home to a modest population of primitive humans, Las Vegas was a city home to millions of people. There would be an awful lot of 'trash' underground, to say the least.

"So, what? We go down there and flush them out?" Joanne supposed it was workable. The only problem would be the civilians, the homeless folks, down there who would get caught in the crossfire. They already had enough dead innocents on their hands as it was. The entire city was on edge, even more so now that the Internet was gradually coming back online. As soon as video-sharing sites went live again, there was bound to be a flood of amateur recordings of 'aliens' attacking casinos and the like. Hardly something that the powers-that-be could easily cover up, no matter how much they told her, and others involved, to be discreet. And that was not considering the media, who would run with these stories as if their lives depended upon it. The fallout from the events of the last twelve hours was going to be immense.

"Sounds like a plan to me," Valkas replied.

"Not the best one." This was another voice, the familiar tones of Malcolm Barrett, who stepped up behind them. Both Joanne and Valkas swivelled about to face him. Joanne sensed some irritation from Valkas, as fleeting as it was.

"It's the best one we've got," Valkas said.

"According to our information, there are a fair few people living in those tunnels. We can't just go in guns blazing. We'll need some sort of plan."

"Did you get anything out of the survivor?" Joanne asked him. The one surviving alien from the casino was locked up somewhere in the building, presumably deep in the basement where he could be placed under heavy guard, well away from any prying eyes.

"Not much. It's still too early." Barrett sounded disappointed. "As it stands, he's our only lead. If you're sure of this theory of yours, about them being in the tunnels…"

"I'm sure." Valkas did sound certain, and Joanne had no reason to disbelieve him. Barrett was not as convinced as she was, although he did appear to take it seriously. "Where else could they be, especially now, if their holograms aren't working?"

"We've probably got them on the run now," Joanne added. "They've lost the element of surprise and they can no longer pretend to be anyone they're not. We need to move in after them, before they escape the city. We sure don't need them heading out west, to somewhere like Los Angeles, or San Francisco. Things are bad enough here, think about what it'll be like in a bigger urban centre. Especially since these guys are informed. They already took down our communications. They could very well know where exactly to strike. Imagine if they turned east and went after Hoover Dam? We'd be in for a hell of a flood."

"We don't know where to start," Barrett said. "Those tunnels are a maze. We'd need to go in every entrance, send people in to clear out the homeless as we move in. As soon as we start making noise, they'll be onto us. And that's assuming they're not already watching the entrances."

"We don't need a big team. Vincent and I can go in, with some support. It could take a while, but if we find some trace of them, we'll phone in and give you the details. Then the cavalry can move in, make as much noise as they have to and clean out the rats living down below." Joanne was actively volunteering to go crawling around in some rank, no doubt filthy, tunnels that were probably dark and full of actual rats. This surprised her, but she was not about to place the trust required in the likes of the NID to carry out the mission without issue. She would rather do it herself, to make sure that things went well. Of course, her track record in this regard had not exactly been great in recent days.

"We'll keep interrogating the prisoner," Barrett said. He seemed to agree with her plan, if only because it would take up a few resources at most. He walked over to the table and made an extended examination of the maps that Valkas had corroborated, before he put one finger upon a marked area towards the southern part of the Strip.

"That's near the Golden Springs casino. If you're going to start anywhere, I'd say that was the place."

"Sounds like a plan," Valkas added. Barrett turned to him, frowning slightly, if only because he was still having trouble working out what he really was. At the moment, Barrett did not know about the Calsharans, and he certainly did not know of the one who was now actively working for the SGC. Maybe it was better he did not, even if he was very obviously suspicious of 'Vincent', the advisor.

* * *

It was about twenty minutes later when Joanne and Valkas found themselves at that very tunnel entrance. Tucked into a fenced-off open area, one that was home to little more than gravel and a small cluster of portable construction site offices, the tunnel entrance was hidden in the far corner, serving as the end of a winding and cracked footpath. Not far from them were the nearest sets of hotels and casinos on the Strip. For all the gloss and glamour of the world-famous Vegas Strip, this tunnel entrance was thoroughly the opposite. Wet, smelly and dark, there were no lights down its length. Once the dim outside light ended, the darkness began. The concrete above the entrance and to its sides were smothered with colourful graffiti. The walls inside were likely much the same, until one went deeper underground.

The sky above was beginning to acquire the lighter purple shades of dawn, the sun starting its very gradual ascent over the horizon. The team still had plenty of darkness to move in here mostly unnoticed, helped by the unmarked black Escalades that they came in. Joanne was in black combat fatigues, unmarked as well save for her rank insignia. Valkas had changed into a similar black uniform, although he retained his cloth wrap and goggles, not to mention the gloves he wore that covered up his distinctly non-human hands. Behind them, they were joined by two similarly attired NID operatives, whilst Barrett stood nearby watching the group. He was not coming in and would instead head back to the office to oversee the operation, all while interrogating the captive alien further. Each team member carried a powerful transistor radio, so there was a good chance that their signals would get through, no matter how deep into the tunnels they ventured. The last thing they needed was to get stuck down there, surrounded by heavily armed aliens with no means of calling for help.

"Be careful down there," Barrett said. Joanne looked to him and nodded, grateful for his concern. She travelled light, as the tunnels themselves were more than likely going to be cramped in some places. A pistol, specifically a Para-Ordnance P-14 pistol chambered for the .45 ACP round. Valkas had elected to carry in an MP9 machine pistol, with the two NID operatives carrying similar. This was supposed to be a reconnaissance mission, although Joanne was not about to hold her breath when it came to potentially running into trouble. Knowing her luck, something was bound to happen. She would be almost disappointed if it did not.

"We'll be careful," Joanne said. She turned to the entrance, as unappealing as it was, before glancing over at Valkas. "You ready, Vincent?"

"Always."

Joanne nodded in acknowledgement, before she headed inside. Valkas followed, with the two NID agents in tow. As soon as the darkness began to shroud them, they each switched on their flashlights. Joanne had one attached to her vest, as did the others, and the brilliant white beams cut through the dark sharply. Graffiti covered walls and puddled water on an uneven concrete floor came into view, with the tunnel continuing at a slight downwards incline the further they moved in. They had a map, but they had no idea where they might find the aliens themselves. They could only rely on what they found along the way, if any clues were indeed there to be uncovered. It was better than hanging around at the office, waiting for the captured alien to give up the goods. And that seemed very unlikely.

The group came to an intersection. Joanne went left on a whim, the others following. As the flashlight beams shot through the dark, she caught sight of cobwebs in the ceiling, spiders scuttling to avoid the light. Some looked a little bigger than what one might expect to find in this country, unless that was a trick of the light (or lack thereof). The smell here was one of dirty water, gasoline and the general smell one got when they opened an overflowing garbage bin. The tunnels were narrow and went on for miles, intersecting and criss-crossing frequently. A veritiable maze, one that went right under the casinos and hotels of the Strip itself. There were countless tourists above them. Had there not been the threat of alien terrorists they would be out and about enjoying the sights. All the while, they were oblivious to what was directly beneath their feet.

"Not the kind of vacation spot this city is known for," Joanne muttered. Valkas was just behind her, following closely, eyes no doubt darting about underneath his tinted goggles as they searched the dark for threats. His eyes were better suited for low-light conditions, yet even for him the flashlight was a bonus.

Small holes, some square, some rounded, were dotted about the walls at intervals. Many were large enough for someone to crawl through. Supposedly, they were to aid in protecting the city from flashfloods, as was the tunnel network in general. Water, a deep brown from the muck and grime, was puddled all about the floor at varying depths. Some of it reached up to Joanne's ankles, thankfully protected by the black combat boots she wore. Each step bringing with it an audible splash, hardly the kind of stealthy approach she intended.

They could be down here for hours. Without the light of the sun to go by, time itself seemed to lose meaning here. Joanne checked her watch instead, ensuring to keep herself in tune with the passage of time as to avoid becoming too engrossed down here. If they found nothing after a couple of hours, they would leave, and once again they would be back at square one. Without a proper lead, those aliens could get out of the city and start causing trouble someplace else. Which was probably what they very much intended.

It was about twenty minutes later when they found themselves underneath the far end of the Strip. In a few places, there was a narrow metal grating set in the ceiling above, looking up onto the streets of the Strip, now bathed in the first light of morning. Cars rumbled overhead, and the discordant sounds of distant voices echoed down into the tunnels, reverberating off of the concrete walls, sometimes making it sound as if the group was seemingly in the middle of a crowd. It was strange being down here, right under the noses of the people above. None would know of what was going on down here, so intent on their daily lives upon the surface and the recent chaos that had occurred within the city.

Joanne took another left at an intersection, finding herself having to duck down to enter a rounded opening that lead westwards. Away from the Strip, and away from the metal grilles that served as the only real opening onto the world above. They went deeper now into the dark, and it was some way past the Strip they found their first sign of life. That is, life other than the rats and spiders that scuttled about in the dark. Through another rounded opening, they came across a makeshift camp of sorts, comprised of two tents and a number of handbuilt wooden benches, along with chests and suitcases packed with belongings. A home for the homeless, except there was no one here. Despite the location, the place appeared to have some of the comforts of home. There was a portable stove here, some plastic jugs full of water, a clothesline hanging near a burning fire that was contained within a rusted old barrel. Books, some with yellowed pages and dog-eared covers, were stacked here and there. There were no people here, but the signs of their recent presence were, among them the overcooked chicken sitting on the gas stove nearby. It had been left to burn, grey smoke wafting off of the charred meat. Something had interrupted the denizens of this modest little camp.

Joanne signaled for the team to stop, as she walked up to the stove and took a careful look about the camp. The front flap of one of the tents was partially open. Joanne walked up to it slowly, gun in one hand, as she used her other to gently push the flap the rest of the way open. The smell caught her nose first, the now familiar stench of charred flesh, and it was not the burning chicken on the stove behind her. The smell of burning human flesh was different, and not a scent she was likely to forget.

The two bodies lying inside were that of a man and a woman, both of whom had seemingly been cowering in fear holding each other before they were killed with an energy weapon. This had happened some hours ago, but it was apparent now that the alien infiltrators had cleared a path for themselves through these tunnels.

"I'd say they've been through here," Joanne stated. Valkas came up alongside her, casting his gaze upon the two bodies inside.

"Unarmed and cowering. It's as if they just don't care who they kill."

"They hate us, Valkas," Joanne replied. "They hate humans, the Field Marshall made that pretty clear. And they're going to keep killing until we stop them."

Valkas nodded his head. Even though he was not from around here, he was as determined to stop these ruthless alien intruders as much as Joanne was. An admirable quality, Joanne thought.

They moved on then, now all the more cautious and alert. It seemed that all they had to do was follow the trail of bodies. Joanne mused that, had they not come down here, no one would have found out about the killings in these tunnels. These people had been forgotten, left behind by society, and in their attempts to eke out a meagre living in this darkened, bleak environment, they had instead found themselves in the wrong place at the wrong time.

* * *

They traveled further west in the tunnels, coming across several more dead bodies. More homeless people had been gunned down in a variety of places. Some had been fleeing in terror, others had tried to hide, yet even those had been found and eliminated. The more she saw of it, the more sickened Joanne became. To Field Marshall and his people, humans were beanth their contempt. And in a way, they would have an easier time killing a species very much unlike themselves.

The team came upon a longer tunnel section than most, the floor covered in a stream of water a good inch thick. The water was dirty, clogged with various rubbish, and the smell within this tunnel was not unlike that of a sewer. Joanne supposed there was a good chance some folks had done their business down here on more than one occasion.

As the team started down its length, Joanne found herself stopping in her tracks suddenly. A sound had echoed down the hall, bouncing off of the surrounding walls, ensuring that it sounded far louder than it normally might have. Joanne signaled the team to stop, and that they did, the sounds of their footsteps ceasing abruptly.

The noise happened again, and this time she heard it clearly. A man coughing, a drawn-out ragged cough, as if some respiratory affliction was behind it. Joanne began to move ahead slowly, doing what she could to pinpoint the source of the noise. It happened once more, louder now, and she found her attention being drawn to a section of the wall further ahead, on her left. Valkas and the others followed her, slowly and quietly, as she moved to the rotting wood pellet that leaned over a small part of the lower wall. With her gun at the ready, she pulled it over, revealing the bearded old man cooped up inside the hole behind it. He turned his head, squinting harshly in the brilliance of her flashlight. Joanne lowered it slightly, providing the old man some relief.

She saw right away that he was most likely one of the homeless living down here. Dressed in a dirty grey jacket and similarly coloured trousers, he appeared somewhat ragged, his beard wild and unkempt. Joanne squatted down to his level, meeting his eyes in turn. She immediately became aware of his breath, which reeked of a strong mix of cigarettes and liquor.

"Get that light out of my face, lady." The old man was annoyed, and after he spoke, he coughed again. All those cigarettes were likely not doing him much good.

"What happened down here?" She asked him.

"What the hell do you care?" The old man shot her a mean glance. "No one cares what goes on down here."

"Believe it or not, I care. So, tell me, did some bad folks come through here guns blazing? Because that's what it looks like to me."

The old man appeared sceptical, if a little less irritated now. He looked to Valkas and the other two, right away noticing the combat vests they wore as well as the guns they carried. A cautious, if curious, gaze crossed his weathered face.

"You the police?" He asked them.

"No. But we are here to stop the bad guys. Do you know where they went?"

The old man seemed to consider the question for a moment, before he narrowed his eyes and put out a hand.

"Look, I'll tell you what you want to know, but I want a little something. You got a cigarette? Maybe some whiskey?"

"No." Joanne frowned. As much as it irked her to fuel the man's bad habits, she found herself reaching into her pocket. There, she retrieved a crumpled twenty-dollar bill, which she handed to the old man. "Now tell me everything."

"Some freaks came through here all right," the old man explained. He stuffed the money into his front pocket. "They were weird-looking, like some guys in weird Halloween dress-up. All brown and red and purple, and they didn't talk normal. They made clicking noises, growls, like animals. And they were carrying weird guns that shot shafts of light." His eyes lit up then, as if hit with some stunning realisation. "Were they aliens?"

"Where did they go?" Joanne asked.

"They came through here a few hours ago. A whole bunch of them." The old man pointed down the tunnel. "There's an exit out there, that goes near some shitty motel. Maybe they went out that way?"

Maybe they did, it was worth checking out. Joanne turned to Valkas, who seemed to agree, if the nod he gave her was a sign. Joanne looked down at the old man, who was still in his hole in the concrete wall, apparently content to remain there.

"You going to be all right here?" She asked him.

"I've been down here ten years," the old man said. "I'll be fine. Now leave me alone."

Joanne began to move down the tunnel again, with Valkas and the others following. They might very well have a lead now, as slim as it was. As for what they might do if they found the aliens in question, that was still very much up-in-the-air. A matter for improvisation, most likely.

"You think he was telling the truth?" Valkas asked her, once they were a little further down the tunnel. "I think he'd say just about anything for money."

"We'll find out, soon enough," Joanne said. "I like to think he was telling the truth. A man like that, living down here? He's probably more honest than half the people living above us right now."

The entrance the old man had mentioned was some distance away, right at the very end of the tunnel. A very literal light at the end, where a set of metal bars by the tunnel ceiling opened onto the world above. Overgrown grass covered most of this makeshift viewport, but the sunlight that made its way in cut through the dark with ease. And to the right of it, a set of steps, leading up and out of the labyrinthine maze of tunnels. They went to a battered metal door, tucked away in a back alley between buildings towards the city's outskirts.

The sun was rising now, the sky above a deep orange-blue. There were scattered patches of cloud cover, but otherwise it was likely to be another warm day in the Nevada desert.

Beyond the door, the alleyway was more or less a glorified gravel road that ran between apartment buildings. The gravel was overgrown with weeds and various shrubs, the grass almost knee-height as the group emerged. The door hung ajar, an unassuming entrance to the labyrinth below. Normally it would have been locked, but some time ago, perhaps years previously, the lock had been broken. Probably by someone who lived down there, looking for a quick means of entry.

"He said a motel?" Joanne stopped in the middle of the alley, looking around. "I don't…" She trailed off, her eyes going to the very end of the narrow lane. There was a road there, and across the street, the front of what was most likely a motel. As she started ahead, she saw it better, the sign that read 'The Palms Motel' making it clear that the old man was perhaps not lying after all. Here they were, the four of them, dressed in combat gear and carrying guns, emerging into a potentially busy street in the early hours of the morning. Maybe not such an unusual sight given current events, but it was hardly inconspicuous.

"How can we be sure they're in there?" Valkas sidled up next to her. The motel was typical for what it was. Two rows of rooms, two floors worth on each, with a parking lot out the front. To either side of it, restaurants and shopfronts. Business was only just beginning for the day for some of these places. In another hour or two, there would be a small crowd forming in a place such as this. Maybe it was best they handle this quickly, before too many civilians started getting in the way.

"I'll check it out." Joanne turned to Valkas, and the pair ducked back into the alleyway. "Call Barrett, tell him our situation and our location. If they're in there, I'll find them."

"I'll accompany you."

"No need. I'll stick my head in, poke around. Get the lay of the land. You hang back with the others. If I need help, you'll know about it."

"By the shooting and shouting?"

"That'd be right." Joanne was not entirely sure why she was going ahead on her own. Maybe it was the fact that they were unlikely to find anything. A bunch of aliens hiding in a motel? It was unlikely. Then again, so was having an alien on your squad, and yet there Valkas was, standing right next to her. She supposed having a much more open mind than normal would be necessary for this line of work, after everything she had been through.

"Stay here," Joanne said, as she stepped out onto the street. She put her gun in its holster, trying her best to appear normal as she crossed the road. There was already a group of people seated outside the café nearby, and a few heads turned as they sighted the young woman in a combat vest and black fatigues. Not exactly a stealthy approach, but circumstances did not allow it.


	48. Runway

**Runway  
**April 3rd, 2022

Daniel knew very little about the alien species of which the Field Marshall was one. Until recently, they had only ever been encountered once, and aside from the technology they had utilised, no one had discovered much more about them. And even most of the technology they had left behind after their aborted attempt to take over the SGC had, in fact, self-destructed when the bulk of the alien infiltration force had done so. A few holographic emitters had survived, and they had in turn been exploited by less-than-savoury individuals to further their own agendas, but otherwise the whole incident had been buried.

This had been a mistake. Daniel had thought so at the time, when he had been barred from any official research on the infiltrators. The military had wanted the whole affair buried, as if embarrassed by the events. After all, the intruders had very nearly succeeded in gaining control of the SGC. Their next step would have been the government itself, and who knew what might have happened had they been successful. Daniel had wanted to speak to the one alien who had survived and been taken prisoner, detained in some undisclosed location by the NID, but he had been prevented from doing so. It was likely that alien had been dissected not long after the event, and whatever had been learned then had been buried with the rest of the fiasco.

Who knew that after all these years, they would come back with a vengeance? Daniel supposed it was typical, for something like that to come back and bite you after all these years. He really could have done with that additional research, as it might have helped him do something about this big alien fusion bomb. As it stood, he had resorted to the somewhat impractical approach of simply moving it. Area 51 was protected by concealed emitters that emanated a scrambling frequency that prevented most forms of teleportation from working within their perimeter. These devices had a range that extended for some miles beyond the boundaries of the airbase, and there were even some further out into the desert, a means or preventing alien incursions. Of course, they had not saved the people inside the facility from the most recent alien incursion, as they had come in through other means. Now, the scramblers only impaired their attempts to dispose of this bomb, as did the layers of steel and concrete keeping them from communicating with the outside world.

Daniel carried one end of the device, one of the Marines on the other. It was heavy, more so than he had been expecting, and whereas the Marine was young and strong and likely used to the exertion, Daniel's younger years were long behind him. Sure, he was reasonably fit and still did his share of exercise, but with age came the aches and pains one would expect from getting older. And Daniel was certainly not getting any younger.

They made their way for one of the elevators. Thankfully, although the Field Marshall and his cohorts had disabled communications and commandeered the surveillance systems here, they had not turned off the power. The elevator was still working, and as soon as the two of them were inside, they set the bomb on the floor whilst the other Marine keyed in the button for the surface level. The doors slid shut and the elevator started in earnest, at a rate that Daniel found irritatingly slow. Here they were, with a literal ticking timebomb before them, one with explosive power that could have easily been in excess of anything ever detonated on Earth before. Would the Field Marshall go so far as to destroy the entire planet? Daniel would not put it past him. The alien military leader had a serious bone to pick with the humans of Earth, and the lengths he had gone to so far suggested that he was willing to go whatever lengths were necessary. He was willing to die to fulfil his vendetta, most probably.

"Jack, Jack, can you hear me?" Daniel switched on his radio. The elevator continued upwards, traversing one sub-level after another. It felt slow, even though he knew that it was probably moving faster than any elevator in any civilian office. "It's Daniel. Jack, you there?"

Finally, Jack O'Neill's familiar voice crackled through the radio.

"_Daniel, what's going on? You figured out that bomb?"_

"Figured it out? Jack, I'd need days to figure it out. We haven't got that kind of time."

"_Alien stuff is usually your kind of thing, Daniel."_

"It takes a lot to translate any alien writing. Even more so when I've never seen it before." Daniel did not feel like arguing the point with the man, or even trying to explain that making sense of alien writings required some point of reference.

"_What's your plan, then? I mean, you do have a plan, right?"_

"We get it on a chopper, and we fly it past the markers," Daniel said. "Have one of our ships pick it up."

"_Daniel, none of our ships are close for a quick pickup. We could end up waiting an hour or more…"_

"What do you suggest, then?" Daniel reached under his glasses and rubbed his eyes. Things just kept on getting worse, it seemed. They had a bomb and no way to disarm it, and apparently no way to get it off the planet.

"_Get it up here. We could hitch it to an F-302, send it into orbit. It's better than nothing."_ That sounded like a plan, one that Daniel could go with. The elevator came to a halt then, the doors sliding open onto a hangar. This one was occupied by a pair of cargo planes, not to mention a security checkpoint that was unoccupied. Most of the personnel on the surface level had evacuated, as soon as the gas had been pumped into the underground facility. Daniel could only estimate how many had died, but the number had to be well into several hundred, perhaps more. He had certainly needed to step over a fair few bodies to get to the elevator.

He and the Marine hefted up the bomb again, heading across the hangar with it. Jack was likely back outside, in the hangar where the operations centre was. Either that, or he was probably on his way to find an aircraft capable of getting into orbit.

"Jack, where are you?" Daniel sounded a little breathless, carrying the bomb as they were. His eyes went to the far left of the hangar, and he sighted a small cargo carrier, little more than a white cart on four wheels. Motorised, of course, designed specifically to carry cargo. And this bomb certainly qualified as such. He nodded towards it, getting the Marine's attention, and the two of them hobbled over to it, the bomb between them.

"_I'm on my way to the 302 hangar. It's number seven, not too far from the operations centre. It's not hard to miss."_

"How so?"

_"Because of the big number 'seven' above its entrance."_ Daniel could almost hear the man rolling his eyes. _"I'll start readying one of the fighters. God knows how much time we've got left before that thing goes off."_

Daniel and the Marine settled the bomb upon the empty cargo section of the motorised cart. Flexing his aching arms, he climbed into the driver's seat, with the two Marines settling onto the back. The engine was a simple push-button-start, and thankfully it did not require any keys so he was able to get the engine going without issue. The hangar doors were wide open, the sky outside having turned a light purple as the first rays of the sun came bearing down across the Nevada desert. Morning was here, and Daniel realised upon seeing this that he had lost all track of time when underground. It was strange, how that could happen so easily, hours spent getting shot at and running around corridors. Indeed, it really did feel like old times.

"_Daniel, be careful."_ Jack's voice again. He sounded a little hurried, as he was likely making a run for the F-302 hangar. _"I had a run-in with some of those aliens back at the operations centre. Johnston and his people got killed. There could be more of them around. Seems like the Field Marshall's left some of his people behind, as if to make sure that bomb goes off."_

Daniel immediately perked up in his seat, as he grabbed the steering wheel and directed the baggage carrier towards the hangar exit. His eyes scanned his surroundings, a keen eye developed over years of going through hostile territory. When he had started his career in archaeology, he had never figured he would end up becoming a soldier. Yet, that was precisely what had happened, as much as he did not like to admit it. Before the stargate program, he had considered himself a pacifist. And now, pacifism was the last thing on his mind as he sent the baggage carrier trundling onto the tarmac outside. The morning air was cold, and Daniel felt a chill as he turned the vehicle down the runway, putting it on the path towards the F-302 hangar.

There was open ground on all sides now. The transmitter tower from the central communications hub was off to the left, nestled between a few of the hangars, seemingly made to appear normal despite its obvious larger size and the amount of satellite dishes set upon its tall, metal frame. Of course, those familiar with what went on here would know right away that the tower was capable of communicating with far away worlds, thanks to the alien technology that had formed the basis for it design. Courtesy of the Asgard, technology presented by them to humanity as gifts before they had committed mass suicide.

What had that technology done for them, really? It had meant to make them safer, protect their planet from the dangers out in the great expanse of the galaxy (and even neighbouring galaxies, for that matter). Yet it had not stopped the Field Marshall, and now there was what Aithris spoke of to contend with, if it indeed existed. An enemy out there that had the Calsharans worried and mobilising and given their technological prowess that was a worrying thought.

Daniel found that the baggage carrier moved at an abysmally slow pace. Sure, it was not exactly fitted with a sports car engine, but even with the accelerator pressed hard down he was managing barely over thirty kilometres an hour. All the while, the bomb remained still in the rear of the open-top vehicle, its alien readout screen flashing purple and blue. For all he knew, they had mere minutes before it went off. Maybe the Field Marshall had cleared the blast zone and John had been unable to stop him? The worst outcome, certainly, but Daniel had to consider all the possibilities. All the more reason to go faster.

Familiar white bolts of energy suddenly came searing across the runway from his far right. Daniel ducked his head as he caught the shots in his peripheral vision, and one of them struck the side of the baggage handler, searing the metal just behind his seat. Another struck one of the Marines, a puff of smoke and flash of energy erupting from the man's chest. He fell backwards, tumbling off of the side of the carrier as it moved, crumpling into a heap upon the runway. Daniel turned his head, one hand reaching for the pistol at his waist. There were three of the alien soldiers racing towards them from across the runway. Every few seconds, one would pause and fire a shot, and with each shot they took their aim improved.

The Marine behind Daniel opened fire with his M4 rifle. The weapon thundered, the noise echoing across the runway. Daniel's gaze became set upon a hangar on the left, the one with a large number '07' above its entrance. He thought he saw Jack standing out the front of it, waving at him. One of the aliens took a shot his way, causing Jack to duck as it zipped by him and disappeared inside the hangar.

Daniel pulled out his pistol and began to fire in the general direction of the three alien soldiers. Doing so while driving was awkward, and as a result his aim was not the best. Still, it was enough to make the trio pause, with two of them ducking down before returning fire. Another bolt of energy struck the front of the baggage carrier, burning a hole into the metal. Smoke followed it, and the engine began to make a very unhealthy-sounding rapid clicking noise. Something important had been damaged, and Daniel quickly discovered that vehicle was losing acceleration. He swore under his breath, turning the vehicle towards the hangar entrance. They were close at least, although carrying that bomb while under fire was hardly ideal.

"Jack, we need some help!" Daniel shouted, as the engine on the baggage handler finally gave out. Jack came running over, wielding an automatic shotgun. He took a few shots at the aliens across the tarmac, felling one of them with a round to the chest. The other two began to fire more rapidly now, being about fifty metres away. The other Marine on the rear of the vehicle jumped off of the side, opening fire with his rifle again, only to catch an energy bolt in the chest. He fell backwards against the baggage handler, smoke pouring off of his chest, a fist-sized hole burned into his torso. His finger pressed the trigger on his rifle as he went down, sending a volley of erratic fire into the ground next to him, bullets tearing chunks out of the tarmac.

Daniel went to jump out of the vehicle, only for a bolt of energy to strike the dashboard in front of him. He felt the heat of the impact wash against his hands and forearms, which in itself was not necessarily harmful. The heat was gone in an instant, although the molten metal that splashed off of the impact zone stuck around. Some of it struck his left hand, and right away he yelped as the sizzling steel burned against his hand, eating through the glove that had been upon it. He brushed it off best as he could with his sleeve, yet the burning continued as now molten metal and rubber caught upon the back of it.

Jack moved to the rear of the vehicle where the bomb was located, shotgun raised. He took another shot, sending another of the aliens falling. At that point, the gun's magazine became empty, and he hurriedly began to reload. Crouching behind the vehicle, he slammed home the last drum magazine he had for the AA-12, before returning his attention to the last remaining alien solider. At the same time, Daniel stumbled out of the driver's seat, jumping down next to Jack as the retired General returned fire.

"You look a little hurt, Daniel." Jack ducked behind the vehicle, glancing at Daniel's wounded hand. Daniel ripped off the glove, wincing as it took a chunk of skin with it. Second-degree burns greeted him, the skin red and blistered upon the back of his left hand. Not to mention the pain, which was some of the worst he had felt in years.

"I'll be fine." He gritted his teeth, before he looked to the bomb. They were right outside the hangar, and he could see three F-302s parked inside. "What about the planes?"

"One of them's got half a tank of fuel," Jack said. "The others are empty. We're just going to hope that half a tank will be enough." Another bolt of energy struck the top of the car, causing the pair to duck. "Looks like it's just you and me."

"We're going to need to haul this bomb over there," Daniel stated. "And with my hand, I don't think I can carry it."

Jack looked at Daniel's burned hand again, and then to the bomb.

"We'll push," Jack said. "We just have to take care of this guy first." He nodded in the general direction of the last alien soldier, who fired as if on cue. A blast of energy struck the other side of the baggage carrier, burning yet another hole into the painted white metal.

"On the count of three," Jack announced, and Daniel nodded in acknowledgement. There was something invigorating, about being together like this again after all these years. Daniel sometimes worried if he had come to enjoy the 'action' a little too much. If the younger, more pacifistic Daniel Jackson saw this older Daniel, he would likely balk at what he had turned into.

"One-two-three!" Jack's rapid-fire count caught Daniel a little off-guard, but he went with it nonetheless. They each jumped out from behind opposite ends of the baggage carrier, Jack firing the automatic shotgun, Daniel working the trigger on his pistol rapidly. The lone alien soldier did not stand much of a chance under the combined fire, exposed as he was, and he twitched and convulsed as bullets and buckshot tore into him. Purple blood splattered forth and the alien's grasp upon his rifle loosened, sending it clattering to the ground at his feet. As the last vestiges of life left the alien, he fell to his knees, blood pouring down his front, before he finally slumped over and became still.

Jack moved to the rear of the baggage carrier as soon as the alien had hit the ground. He began to push, and Daniel promptly joined him, putting all his strength behind it as they began to force the cart into the hangar. It was slow going, and the weight of the fusion bomb only made it more difficult. Even on the wheels, it was heavy, and Daniel could feel his arms and legs all aching in complaint. He glanced over at Jack, whose face had become the very picture of exertion, clenching his jaw and scrunching up his brow as he put all his weight behind the action. The one fuelled F-302 was still some distance away, inside the hangar, and it would be another matter entirely trying to hook it upon the fighter's underbelly. Normally, that would be where high-yield payloads were attached, and the fusion bomb certainly qualified as such.

"Just like old times, huh Daniel?" Jack grunted, as the pair pushed the carrier further into the hangar.

"In all the wrong ways," Daniel remarked.


	49. In Pursuit

**In Pursuit  
**April 3rd, 2022

The inside of the mine was dark and musty, as expected. John barged his way through the partially open front gate, weapon raised, a large chamber ahead of him. A few portable lights were placed about the chamber, casting yellowish illumination across much of the room. An old generator was nearby, cables still hooked to the main elevator, which was further ahead. The Field Marshall was just stepping on board, while the young female human with him stood right on the threshold. Both turned their heads as John entered the chamber, and it was the renegade Tok'ra who opened fire first. She utilised a suppressed 9mm pistol, the gunshots subdued to little more than a quiet cough and a sharp click. John ducked behind a set of old metal barrels as a few of the rounds went by, blowing small chips of rock out of the wall.

John stuck his submachine gun over the top of the barrels, firing wildly in an attempt to throw off his enemy. Half the magazine was gone in a couple of seconds, bullets pounding into the metal frame of the elevator. The renegade Tok'ra, Serina, ducked behind a set of old metal containers. The Field Marshall was fiddling with the controls in the elevator, for apparently the machine was not in full working order. It was not surprising, given the obvious age of it, and the rusted joints, bolts and rivets.

John could not be sure if the Field Marshall had an escape plan, since his transport had been reduced to a flaming wreck outside the mine. Was he headed anywhere in particular, or did he simply seek to run from John, still within the blast radius of the fusion bomb? Whatever the reason, John needed to get to him, and he still had a few obstacles in his way.

Serina took a few more shots at him, before she began to reload. John rose from behind the barrels, levelling his submachine gun before he let fly with what was left in the magazine. The rounds tore holes in the containers in front of the rogue Tok'ra, and a few seemed to penetrate as he heard a pained yelp from the other side. She stumbled out from behind cover, spinning to face him, her gun still empty. John preferred not to hurt women, but sometimes one had to work against their own principles, especially if said women were outright trying to kill you. Throwing aside the spent submachine gun, he drew his SW 500 revolver in a quick, fluid and practiced movement. Raising it, he fired a single shot, hitting the woman squarely in the chest. She stumbled backwards, red blood splattering onto the wall behind her, spreading across the elevator door. She hit it hard, her eyes giving off a visible white-yellow glow as her symbiote died with her. The revolver kicked hard in John's grasp, almost knocking him a step backwards, the noise of the shot like thunder in his ears.

Behind Serina, the Field Marshall pulled shut the elevator door, and nearby the generator kicked into life. It was loud, the sound of the rickety old motor almost deafening within the confines of the mine. The elevator began to rise, and John could see the Field Marshall getting away from him right then and there. The alien military leader watched him through the elevator's metal frame as it began to ascend, and despite his unusual facial features, John could almost detect the smugness emanating off of him. He had to do something about that, and quickly.

He turned to the generator, and without thinking hard on it he aimed his gun at it and fired. Once, twice, and then three times, all in quick succession. The bullets tore through the metal shell of the machine with a loud _clank_. Right away, smoke began to pour from within. The whole thing began to shake violently, spluttering rapidly, before it abruptly gave out. John turned to the elevator, hearing a satisfying _thump_ as it stopped in its tracks.

Unperturbed, the Field Marshall jumped from where he stood inside the elevator. John watched, surprised by the alien's dexterity, as he grabbed hold of the metal bars in the elevator's ceiling and hung from them. With one hand, he reached up and bashed against the escape hatch in the top, again and again, loosening the rusted hinges and screws with ease. It finally popped open, allowing the Field Marshall to climb up and out of the elevator.

John took a shot at him, and despite the power of the revolver he carried, there was simply too much in the way for him to get a clean shot. The metal pylons of the elevator shaft, not to mention the metal elevator cabin itself, presented too many obstructions. John took a deep breath as he realised what he would end up having to do here, and so he slid his gun back into its holster before he raced for the bottom of the elevator. Coming in at the base, with the elevator itself high above him, John grabbed hold of the metal frame that formed the elevator's 'shaft' and began to climb. It was a reckless thing to do, and he was more likely to fall off and cripple himself than for the Field Marshall to kill him. Yet, he had no other option, not with the Field Marshall above him doing the same thing. The alien officer moved with the kind of agility that John might have had, back when he had been twenty years old. Once again, he was reminded of his age, something that was not getting any lower.

John carefully climbed each rung and each diagonal metal brace upon the tall metal frame that worked its way up through the hill. He looked up, his view obscured by the elevator platform now, and he came upon its lip a good struggle later. He hoisted himself up and into the elevator, his muscles aching, his lungs burning. Damn, he felt old. He was only fifty-three, but all this running around and getting shot at only made him feel older. He had not had a good night's sleep for some time and save for a shower and quick meal upon arriving back at the SGC, he was in dire need of a snack. He was in no state to pursue an alien terrorist leader. There was no one else, of course. No help would be coming, not when he could reach no one on the radio and every other form of electronic communication was thoroughly scrambled. The only man in any position to stop the Field Marshall was Colonel John Sheppard, which did not make him feel any better.

Above, he could see the Field Marshall close to the top of the shaft. He moved carefully but far easier than John was, and the alien offered him a glance from a good twenty metres above. With one arm wrapped around a pylon, he pulled an alien side-arm from his waist and took aim at John. The Colonel ducked, hugging the inside of the metal frame as a bolt of energy seared past his head. Bracing himself against the wall inside the elevator, he pulled out his revolver, hoping to return the favour. He fired one round, again the noise deafening within the confines of the elevator. The high-powered round grazed the Field Marshall's arm, drawing dark purple blood and causing him to lose his grip on the pistol. It fell from his grasp, clattering off of a pylon before falling past the elevator and continuing on its way to the very bottom of the chamber.

Above, the Field Marshall moved a little faster. Holstering the gun, John climbed up and out of the elevator the same way the Field Marshall had done so, although he did so a little more awkwardly. The things he had to do in this line of work, he thought. There better be a promotion after this, or at the very least, a long vacation.

"You've got nowhere to go!" John paused partway up the shaft, as the Field Marshall neared the topmost level. They must have been high up amongst the hills now. The Field Marshall offered him one last, contemptuous glance before he scrambled out of the frame and into an adjoining tunnel.

So much for talking him into giving up. John persevered, his arms and legs throbbing in pain as he did so. He was close, and he half-expected the Field Marshall to appear above him, his booted heels crushing John's fingers in order to send him falling. At this height, he was unlikely to die right away. Most likely, he would smash against the metal a bit before landing on top of the elevator and there, he would lie down and slowly die in agony. Not a pleasant thought.

The Field Marshall was not waiting for him. John scrambled into the tunnel, relieved to be back upon solid ground. He caught sight of the alien disappearing around a corner some distance ahead. John came to a stop on the dirt upon his knees, his lungs burning as he tried to regain his breath. Sweat trickled down his brow, arms and legs aching. Even his wrists hurt from the recoil on the impractically large revolver. Still, he did not linger. Gun in hand, he quickly reloaded the weapon, sending home five more rounds into the rotating cylinder. As he did this, he rose to his feet, a little wobbly from all the exertion.

He kept on going. The Field Marshall was not far, in fact he was well within reach. He should be, anyway. Even the Field Marshall could not run _that_ fast, and thankfully the old mining tunnel was relatively linear. John did not have to make any hard decisions at any junctions, instead he found himself having to avoid stumbling upon the various detritus left behind from when the mine was in operation. Judging from some of the old equipment left lying around, that seemed to have been some point in the 1920s. Chains hung from hooks in the ceiling and various rusted carts and barrels were dotted about the tunnel. It was fairly dark in here, although John could feel a draught coming in from somewhere ahead. They were on their way to an exit, and as he rounded a corner he saw it firsthand.

The light was very much at the end of the tunnel here. Beyond it, an open hilltop, all rocks and yellow-brown sand. John moved towards the exit carefully, on the lookout for the Field Marshall. If he was jumped now, he might not be able to properly fight him off, not when he felt so damn exhausted. From what he could see, they were on top of a hill of sorts, a mountain even. It was not quite the size for John to consider it a proper 'mountain', but they were up on its summit, with similar rocky hills to the north and west of them. Several old, ramshackle wooden buildings were up here, all having formed part of the mine. A set of tracks went from the tunnel and towards a tall wooden structure, now in a state of serious disrepair. A gentle breeze skirted across the hill, causing an old rotting wooden door to slam upon its housing, before creaking right back open again.

John paused in the light of the dawn sun. Farther ahead, past the old buildings, was a sheer cliff-face. His eyes surveyed the surrounding structures, most of them empty shells clogged with sand and on the verge of falling apart. Any one of them would be a potential hiding place for the Field Marshall.

"Shit," John muttered. He had lost the bastard. He took a few tentative steps onto the path running between the old buildings. Chains clinked in the breeze, wooden bearers creaking with age as the wind buffeted them. And not one sign of the Field Marshall.

John looked down, sighting the footprints of the alien officer. They went off to the left, towards an old shack. Following them, John kept his revolver at the ready, gripped in both hands as he moved for the building's entrance. Here, the tracks seemed to fade. The Field Marshall was probably doing what he could do cover them up.

Suddenly, he heard the faint sound of something swishing through the air behind him. He spun around, and John sighted the Field Marshall only a few metres away, a length of old chain in his hands that he spun rapidly over his head as if he intended to lasso John. Of course, tying him up was the last thing the Field Marshall intended, and John had only a split second to duck underneath what would have likely been a near-killing blow as the end of the chain swung towards him. It swept through the space his head had just been occupying, and John rose up as the Field Marshall pulled it back. Blood was trickling from the officer's arm wound, but he did not seem to notice, and it certainly did not impair his arm movements much as he continued to swirl the rusted length of chain over his head. The finesse at which he handled the primitive weapon was surprising, although John supposed that he should not have been surprised. The alien was a _Field Marshall_ after all, and he had clearly not got that far in the ranks without actually knowing how to fight.

John brought up his gun to fire, only for the Field Marshall to swing the chain again. It snapped around John's wrist, and with a powerful yank the gun was pulled from his grasp. It went flying through the air a short distance, landing several metres away in the sand. John grasped the chain with his other hand, pulling it hard, forcing the Field Marshall a few steps closer. As soon as he was near enough, John kicked out with one foot, delivering a sharp blow to the Field Marshall's right shin, which in turn caused the alien to stumble. He yanked on the chain again, forcing it from the alien's grip. At this stage, John was simply improvising. It had been too long since he had been in a real brawl, and far longer since he had been in one with someone who could fight back to a similar level, or much higher one, than he could manage.

The Field Marshall had lost his weapon, but he was quick to recover. He stood up straight, taking a few steps back as John wrapped the chain around one arm and began to swing it off to his side. It whipped against the sand nearby with each spin as he wound it up, gathering momentum despite the ache in his shoulder that was telling him to cease the exertion. The Field Marshall stood just within its reach, his eye slit set firmly upon John and the chain. He was waiting for him to make a move, and that John did, swinging it fast from the right.

The Field Marshall skipped to one side, and he ducked down and picked up an old piece of rusted metal rebar that was about a foot long, just another piece of junk among many that were strewn about the old mining camp. He brought it up, batting the chain with it, causing it to wrap itself around it partially. With this done, he yanked the rebar sharply, and John felt his right arm almost pop out of its socket from the force of this pull. He found himself letting go of the chain, allowing his end to fall to the ground before them as he jumped aside. The Field Marshall lunged after him, swinging the rebar his way.

John found himself pressed against the wall of the nearest wooden shack. The alien's blow came in hard, and John side-stepped it with barely a split second to spare. The rebar came crashing into the rotting wooden wall behind him, breaking open a few of the planks with ease. And then the Field Marshall had pulled it free with barely any pause, turning towards him with the length held at the ready. John might not have been able to discern exactly what the alien was thinking, but he got the impression from the look on his face that the Field Marshall was absolutely determined to kill him. He was cornered, and like a trapped rat, he fought with a ferocity not seen from him before. John had not been prepared for this kind of fight, the sort that was without any notion of fair-play or even honor. This was a duel to the death, and John sure as hell did not intend to be the one who died.

He turned to face the Field Marshall, only to have to duck under another swing. John swung in a quick jab to the Field Marshall's stomach, but the alien barely flinched and instead thrust the rebar forward like one would a sword. John grappled with the alien's arms, keeping the end of the rebar well away from his chest, and the pair spun and stumbled about for a few metres. John felt his foot kick against something, and he realised then that it was his gun. All he needed was a chance to make a grab for it…

The Field Marshall suddenly changed tack, elbowing John in the chest before kicking one foot out and sending him over it. Despite his best efforts, John lost his balance. He fell onto his back and the Field Marshall came down with him, bringing the rebar within an inch of his eye, the sharp point on it almost within reach of John's eyelashes.

His heart pounding, John kept his hands upon the Field Marshall's own for dear life, looking right up into the rusted piece of metal that was about to be his undoing. Hardly the kind of death he had envisioned for himself. He had often seen himself going out in a blaze of glory. 'Metal rod through the skull' hardly seemed to fall within that category.

"Not the warrior's death you expected, Colonel Sheppard?" The Field Marshall's partially synthesized voice caught him by surprise then, the first words he had heard uttered from the officer since their encounter at Ra's fortress. "Do not worry. I shall make it quick."

Like that was going to make him feel better. John could feel his grasp on the Field Marshall's grip beginning to falter, and the alien's strength began to overpower his own. He had to think quickly, and so he did the first thing that came to mind. He spat, right into the Field Marshall's face, landing a healthy glob of saliva on the alien's manidbles. The obviously disgusted wince that the Field Marshall displayed was all the opportunity John needed, and he rose up and against the alien officer, pushing the rebar back towards him. They rolled over, with John working the rebar from the alien's grasp. John somersaulted over the Field Marshall then, taking the rebar with him, leaving the alien in the sand.

He felt for his gun again, throwing aside the rebar as he did so. He saw it, partially buried in the sand about a metre from him, and he threw himself towards it. The Field Marshall saw this and must have decided he was well out of reach, since he turned around and started to make a run for it. John's fingers found their way around the hilt of the gun and he immediately brought it up, cupping it into both hands whilst he remained on his side, taking aim as the Field Marshall began to run away.

He fired, his aim a little lower than he had intended. The bullet clipped the Field Marshall's lower left leg, tearing a sizeable chunk out of it. The alien yelled, a deep guttural shout that echoed across the hill and faded off onto the distant desert plains. Still, he kept moving, hobbling along on his ruined leg. As he moved, he pulled a small silver device from his hip, no bigger than his fist.

John knew then that it had to be the detonator. They might not have been out of the blast radius, but the Field Marshall had apparently decided that now was as good a time as any to set it off. He neared the cliff-face then, with nowhere left to run. John rose to his feet, weapon raised, and the Field Marshall spun around to face him. He held the detonator up for the Colonel to see, the alien's mandibles wriggling, as if he was trying to form his species' equivalent of a smirk.

"You think you—" John did not allow the Field Marshall to finish talking. He fired, the gunshot echoing throughout the old mining camp. The Field Marshall's left hand, which had been clasped around the device, exploded into a mess of gore. Dark purple blood and purple chunks of flesh flew every which-way, whilst the device itself disappeared into a shower of small silver pieces. Blood spurted from the ragged stump, and the Field Marshall let out another deep, pained yell. He cradled the wrecked hand against his stomach, a futile effort to halt the flow of blood that spurted from the stump with each rapid beat of his heart.

"You lost, Field Marshall." John lowered the gun, watching with some satisfaction as the Field Marshall collapsed upon his knees. Blood splattered across the Field Marshall's torso, staining his dark red biomechanical armour a deep purple. The Field Marshall directed his gaze towards John. There was a pause, as if he was considering what to say. All of a sudden, a deep, guttural laugh escaped the Field Marshall's slit of a mouth, one that intensified quickly, leaving John with a very confused impression.

"I lost?" The Field Marshall's translation device managed to seep some of the amusement he felt into the synthesized voice. "Did I really, Colonel Sheppard?" From his one remaining hand, he revealed a smaller, cylindrical device, innocuous in appearance. "Your people know. And everybody else will, soon enough."

"What?" John pointed the gun at the alien again, as the cylindrical device fell from his grip. A red light blinked upon its end, and for a moment there John suspected that the bomb was about to go off anyway. If it did, neither of them were likely to feel much. Instead, a further ten seconds passed without any indication of a detonation. Maybe Daniel had disarmed it…

No, this was something else. The Field Marshall was still laughing.

"Everybody in the whole galaxy will know, Colonel Sheppard. Every secret, every single detail about your world…"

John had heard enough. He pulled the trigger, and a good half of the Field Marshall's head disappeared into a purple explosion of blood and meaty chunks. The rest of him fell over, twitching slightly as a handful of neurons continued to fire and the last actions of his internal organs took place. He went still not long after, purple blood staining the sand around him. John lowered the gun, sliding it back into his waist holster as he walked over to the Field Marshall's corpse. Squatting down by it, he picked up the narrow cylinder with the one blinking red light upon it. Whatever did it mean?

The Field Marshall had said that 'everybody' would know. John suddenly had a great, sinking feeling, and he dropped the narrow cylinder to the ground. There, he crushed it under the heel of one boot, grinding it into the dirt and hardened clay underneath. At the same time, he flicked on his transistor radio and hoped to God that someone would hear him.

"This is Colonel Sheppard," he announced to the desert around him. "Can anybody hear me? It's a matter of planetary safety."

* * *

The F-302's engine roared into life. Jack, seated in the cockpit, ran over one last check of its systems. He was familiar with the craft, far more so than Daniel was. The fusion bomb itself had been attached to the undercarriage, somewhat precariously held onto by the clamps that usually clutched upon any heavy payloads the fighters were fitted with.

"It's good to go," Jack said. "I've set the autopilot to take it into orbit. If that bomb goes off, it'll make a pretty flash up in the sky and nothing more."

"We better get it moving." Daniel looked up at Jack, from where he stood by the aircraft, but judging from the look upon the retired General's face, something had come up. "What is it?"

Jack scrunched up his face and tapped at the display before him. A beeping noise started within the cockpit, some kind of alert, Daniel could not see what from where he was standing.

"There's a signal coming through," Jack explained. "And it's not the golden oldies." He flicked a switch upon the dashboard, eyeing the information that came spiraling down the screen. Daniel thought he heard a high-pitched whine coming from somewhere outside the craft, and he found himself moving for the hangar exit, drawn to the source of the noise.

Suddenly, a familiar voice crackled through Daniel's radio. He paused, partway down the hangar, and put a finger to the radio that was strapped to his combat vest.

"_This is Colonel Sheppard. Can anybody hear me? It's a matter of planetary safety."_

"John, it's Daniel." He hoped he was getting through. "What's going on?"

"_Daniel? I'm glad to hear your voice. I just took care of the Field Marshall, but I don't think it's over. He set something off, a transmitter I think. Not for the bomb, for something else. I don't know what, but I was wondering if you had a better idea."_

Daniel walked up to the open hangar doors and poked his head out, looking upon the runway and surrounding buildings. Behind him, Jack began to move the F-302 for the exit.

"Hey, Daniel?" Jack called from the open cockpit as the F-302 moved up behind him. "There's something being picked up by the 302. I think it's on subspace."

Subspace. Daniel was no scientist, but he had worked with enough advanced technology to know what that meant. There was a whole other level of communication and energy that Ancient technology had often utilised, capable of near instantaneous messaging across vast distances. A subspace signal was being emitted, and Daniel thought he had found the source.

"John, I think I worked it out." His eyes had settled upon the transmitter tower in the centre of the base, the direct line to the communications hub underground. A transmitter that had been converted into something far beyond most others on Earth, with the help of alien technology. Now, certain transmitter dishes upon it visibly glowed, and energy crackled along its length.

The Field Marshall had accessed Area 51's computers. He had gleamed all manner of information from them, and it was not a stretch to believe that maybe he had rigged the transmitter for some other purpose. Daniel turned to Jack, who had brought the F-302 to a stop off to his left, idling the engines.

"_The Field Marshall said that 'everybody' would know. What do you think he meant?"_ John must have had a similar thought to Daniel, and what Daniel could see was confirming it.

"I think we have a serious problem." He spun around to Jack, knowing now that every second counted. "Jack, we need to blow up that transmitter tower."

"We what?" Jack frowned, confused.

"It's broadcasting everything. Every piece of information the Field Marshall accessed in Area 51. He's sending it across subspace. All our secrets, the designs of our ships, our fighters, the location of the Alpha Site, the status of our planet's defences…"

Jack, to his credit, knew when to react and when to ask questions. He nodded his head in understanding, before he set the F-302's engines into gear again. Daniel stepped aside as the fighter rode along the tarmac, positioning itself roughly in the centre with its nose pointing towards the transmitter tower. The tower positively crackled with energy now, as if the signal had only just been charging up. At the same time, Jack worked the finer controls of the advanced fighter, overriding a few safeties in the process as he armed one of the missiles equipped on the underside of a wing. Daniel could only watch and hope that they were fast enough, as Jack took hold of the stick and hit the big red 'fire' button.

The missile flared forth like lightning, a grey vapour trail being left in its wake as it snaked over the tarmac and inched upward on an increasing incline. It did not have to go far, and within seconds it had connected with the transmitter tower at its middle section. The thunder of the detonation echoed across the tarmac, and the tower visibly wobbled as a large chunk was blown from its metal frame. Smoldering pieces of steel came raining down, smoke blooming forth, before the top half of the tower began to list. Slowy, inching ever so slightly to the left, before gravity got the better of it and the top half went falling to the ground. Metal groaned and shrieked with the movement, and steel crashed against steel as it struck the ground near the base. The increasing blue shimmer that had been working across its frame had vanished, the signal having ceased abruptly.

All Daniel could do was look upon the remains and hope that it had been enough. That they had been _fast_ enough.

He turned to Jack, who stood up from the cockpit of the F-302, massaging his knees with his hands. He gazed upon his handiwork with some visible element of satisfaction, before he turned to Daniel and the pair exchanged looks.

"Are we in the clear?" He asked.

"I hope so," Daniel replied. In the end, they may never know for sure. Someone out there might have received the information packet, perhaps even partially. In that case, they were in for some very interesting reading.


	50. Street Law

**Street Law  
**April 3rd, 2022

The Palms Motel was not unlike most other establishments of its sort, being somewhere between 'cheap and dirty' and 'top-tier luxury'. A definite far cry from the lavish luxury accommodations one would find on the Vegas Strip, but a whole lot cheaper.

Joanne stopped by the entrance of the motel's front office. Above, the sky had become a crisp blue as morning took proper hold. As one might expect from the middle of the Nevada desert, there were almost no clouds present. Give it another hour or two and the heat was bound to hit discomfort-inducing levels.

She had stowed her pistol for now, not that this did much to make her appear 'normal'. She still wore her black combat uniform, along with a vest fitted with all manner of pouches carrying spare ammunition, energy bars and the like. Regardless, she pushed open the door to the front office, a bell ringing as she did so, and a bored looking man of middle-age and with little to no hair looked up from his place at the desk inside.

"Yes?" His eyes fell upon her with some confusion. "Are you a cop?" A television was playing at the end of the counter. A news report, Joanne realised. The people behind the scenes had apparently managed to get some semblance of functioning communications, enough so that they could bombard the airwaves with news broadcasts.

"No," Joanne replied. "I was looking for some people. An odd bunch, hard to miss. Taller than myself, purple, red, even brown in places. Likely openly carrying weapons. You seen them around?"

"No." The reply was succinct, to-the-point. Almost strained, Joanne realised. She looked into the man's eyes, and she saw fear within them. Something had disconcerted him, and it may not have entirely been attributable to her presence. Slowly, she took a few steps forwards, her eyes surveying the inside of the reception area. Magazines, brochures, a few chairs to sit on and wait if the desk was unoccupied; sunlight shone in through the windows behind her, the blinds only slightly closed. Her eyes drifted to the open doorway behind the desk, past where the receptionist was standing. A fairly unassuming bedroom of sorts, strewn with spare clothes, empty drink cans and magazines.

Movement caught her eye, something that made her pause. Through the door, she sighted a mirror, only partially visible from where she stood. There was no mistaking what she saw reflected in it. The figure was standing a little from the doorway, weapon in hand. He was lying in wait, unaware that he had been spotted.

Then the receptionist's mouth moved, forming two words but little to no sound: _"Help me."_

Joanne reached for her gun. Suddenly, the door at the other end swept open and one of the aliens came storming inside, weapon raised. The one in the bedroom came racing out, knocking aside the receptionist before vaulting over the counter. Before Joanne could pull her gun, she found herself set upon by the both of them. One of them, the one from the next room, was a little larger than the others. Silver trim-lines were visible on his biomechanical armour suit, suggesting a rank higher than his companions.

Joanne's arms were grabbed, hard, by the other alien. The one in front of her, the one with the higher rank, punched her in the gut. The blow was enough to make her wheeze and she fell to her knees, her legs buckling from under her whilst a wave of nausea swept through her. The alien above her leered down at her, tilting its head slightly, as if curious. He signalled to his subordinate, who had pinned her arms behind her back, and he promptly used his spare arm to wrap her in a headlock. Joanne fought, she squirmed and kicked and even tried to bite the creature that had tightened its grip around her neck, but it was no use. The bastard was too strong, more so than any human, and Joanne's vision began to blur as the world spun around her. Her last sight, before she fell unconscious, was that of the lead alien peering down at her as if amused by her plight. And maybe he was, she had no idea. The eye slit and narrow vertical mouth did little to indicate any emotion at all.

* * *

"What's keeping her?" Valkas stood at the entrance to the back alley, leaning against a nearby wall as he surveyed the motel across the street. He had seen Joanne go in, but he had not seen her come out. Behind him, the two NID operatives loitered patiently, weapons tucked away so that the passers-by did not immediately see them. They were an unusual enough sight, the three of them out here, well beyond any of the police cordons and blockades that had been setup in the more populated sections of town. Out here, far enough away from the downtown area, the police were nowhere near as frequent with their patrols. A mistake, Valkas figured, but given how stretched thin they were already, it was an understandable mistake.

He would give her another ten minutes to report in. With that gone, he would storm the fort, no matter what was going on in there, and who he might run into. Joanne could take care of herself, he knew this much, but even he knew when he was in over his head. He could only hope his guess as to when Joanne was in similar circumstances was accurate.

* * *

Joanne came to not long later, her head spinning but otherwise her body was mostly intact. Granted, she had lost her weapons. Those had been the first thing taken from her, as the lead alien and his compatriot had bundled her down a corridor and dragged her into one of the rooms on the upper level. That was where she found herself now, arms bound above her by a pair of plastic ties that had been tightened severely, so much so that they were cutting into her wrists. She was in a bathroom, her hands suspended from a metal rung above the shower door. It was one of those dual ones, both bathtub and shower in one, with an old-fashioned curtain that had been pulled back to make room for her. Sunlight shone in through a small window near the ceiling, while Joanne's gaze looked out through the open door and into the greater room beyond.

There were four of them in here. The leader stood a little in front of her, his friend staying by the doorway. And then their two friends, hanging around inside the bedroom, one watching by the window whilst another was sorting through her equipment. This included her combat vest and everything that had been on it, and at this present time the alien in question had unwrapped one of the energy bars and was in the process of taking a slight, but cautious, nibble.

"I hope you choke on it," Joanne spat. The lead alien grabbed her by the chin, squeezing her jaw tightly. Again, her nose was hit by that fishy, crustacean smell. The mandibles on the lead alien clicked together, and she thought that maybe it was a curious gesture. As if he was not entirely sure what to make of her.

"Who else is with you?" The lead alien spoke through a device similar to what the Field Marshall had been wearing, a translator that delivered his speech in a synthesized voice that made him sound all the more unnerving. "How did you find us?"

"Lucky guess." Joanne pulled at the plastic ties binding her wrists together. No luck there. She was trapped, and this angered her more than anything else. Sure, she was frightened, any sane person would be in this kind of situation. But being powerless like this, at the mercy of some alien enemy? That made her mad, mad enough for her to start thinking of some of the dangerous, brash things she could do here in an attempt to rectify her situation.

"Answer the question, human." The alien sounded annoyed. Credit to the translator device for being able to portray that through the synthesized voice. "How did you deactivate our holographic devices?"

"Magic." Joanne might have smirked, had the lead alien's friend not punched her. It was a hard blow that struck her on the left cheek, just below her eye. Her head snapped to the right, muscles tenderising under the blow, pain shooting through her skull. She clenched her teeth, doing her best to fight the urge to yelp. Nearby, the other alien started to eat her energy bar, apparently pleased by its flavour.

The other alien hit her again, this time from the other side. Now she had two black eyes to contend with, she realised, not to mention the blood that started pouring from her nose. The world spun about her and she found it hard to focus, least of all upon the ugly alien right in front of her.

Joanne felt the lead alien grab her again, this time by the collar. Their eyes met, or what passed for eyes on the alien.

"Who the hell are you and why should I answer your questions?" She had to stall him, if only to save herself. Give Valkas a chance to get in here and help out. Surely he was on his way, right now?

"They call me the Executor," the lead alien announced. He sounded proud of this. "You should cooperate, if only to extend your life. Otherwise I will take you apart, piece of piece." As he said this, he reached for his waist and withdrew what looked to be a narrow grey-metal handle. It appeared innocuous, at first. That was until he flicked a switch on it, and a blue shaft of energy about six inches long extended from the hilt.

"A lightsaber?" Joanne snorted, despite the pain it sent through her head. "Did you buy that at a dollar store?"

The Executor nodded to his friend, who reached up and grabbed one of her bound hands. Working his fingers between her own, he managed to splay one out from what had been a closed fist. Joanne fought against the action, her heart racing now as she realised what was coming. She hardly had a chance to prepare herself when she felt the heat of the quietly humming energy blade connect with the base of her pinky finger, on her left hand. It sheared the extremity off with all the ease of a hot knife through butter, and the searing, burning pain it sent through her made her scream.

Apparently, this was all the sign the others needed. The window at the front of the room shattered into a hundred pieces, bullets tearing through it and the blinds, gunfire rattling from outside. The alien standing in front of the window twitched as each round struck him, tearing through his flesh and splattering purple blood upon the walls and floor. He crumpled, right as the door to the room was kicked open by a familiar and very welcome figure.

Valkas raised his machine pistol and opened fire, hosing the alien in the bedroom with rounds. That one fell backwards, blood splashing across the television set as he went down. As for the Executor's subordinate, he swivelled around and opened fire with an alien energy pistol. Valkas dived to one side, landing behind the bed as the white bolts of energy zipped across the room and blew chunks of plaster out of the walls.

The Executor looked about, and for a second there he appeared unsure of himself. He pulled out his gun then, his energy blade in his other hand, whilst his subordinate stepped out into the bedroom. At that moment, the other two NID operatives appeared on the landing outside, with one stepping into the doorway and opening fire.

The alien fell backwards into the bathroom, several holes torn through him. Joanne seized her chance then, using her athleticism to her advantage as she pulled herself up where her hands were bound and swung her legs back, building momentum. She brought them both forwards in a powerful double kick that sent the Executor stumbling out of the bathroom. Even then, he still managed to rattle off a shot from his gun, blowing a hole into the operative standing in the doorway. He went stumbling backwards and over the railing behind him, before landing on top of a parked car below, the windshield shattering under the impact, blood splattering across the hood.

Valkas lunged for the Executor as he barrelled for the exit. Grappling with him, they both slammed against what little remained of the window by the door, before Valkas sent the Executor falling through the blinds and onto the landing outside. There, the other NID operative levelled his gun at the alien, only to receive a shot from his energy weapon at near point-blank. The blast went right through him, leaving a fist-sized hole where his lungs had been, smoke pouring off of it as he went down.

Valkas went right for Joanne, as the Executor stumbled down the landing outside, in full view of some of the other motel guests. A few shots from his weapon sent them racing for cover, and while he went for the stairs, Valkas stopped by Joanne. He pulled a knife from his vest and cut away the plastic keeping her hands bound, and there she collapsed against his reassuring bulk.

"Are you okay?" He sighted the bruising near her left eye and the missing pinky finger, reduced to a burnt little stump. Joanne's head throbbed and her fingers burned, but otherwise she was, indeed, okay. She nodded, before her right hand found the wrappings around his head and pulled them away with ease, goggles as well. Before she even knew what she was doing, she planted her lips against the leathery skin around his mouth and kissed him. Brief, but with more passion behind it than she had ever offered anyone else before. She pulled away a few seconds later, giving him a weak smile as the world continued to wobble around her.

"Go get him," she said, before she fell unconscious against him.

* * *

Valkas bolted out of the room, as soon as he was sure Joanne was still alive. He had eased her to the floor, leaving her to get what rest she could, before he went after the fleeing Executor. The alien was rushing down the walkway outside, and Valkas stepped out of the motel room with his gun at the ready as he set his gaze upon the Executor.

What had happened with Joanne seconds before had caught him a little by surprise. Sure, he felt something for her, although now was hardly the time for him to become introspective. Instead, he found himself bolting after the Executor, who had come to the end of the walkway and was about to make a go for the stairs. He spun around, looking towards the Calsharan who pursued him, and Valkas fired a shot from his machine pistol that hit the alien in the lower stomach.

The Executor stumbled backwards, leaning over the railing at his back before gravity got the best of him and sent him tumbling over the edge. He landed in the garden a floor below, the bushes and dirt doing a little to absorb the impact. Valkas continued running, doing his best to ignore the other sets of eyes watching him. Several of the other motel guests were observing the whole scene, no doubt a little stunned to find one alien pursuing another, very different-looking alien. There would be hell to pay when this was all over, that much was clear. Knowing the way the humans worked, Valkas was sure that someone somewhere would contrive some means of covering the whole thing up.

The Executor was up on his feet, hobbling out of the garden and onto the street. Purple blood dripped in his wake, and he clutched one hand towards the wound at his stomach.

Valkas wasted no time getting after him. He vaulted over the railing without hesitation, his powerful legs enough to absorb the one storey drop into the flowerbed below. He pelted after the Executor, who had since turned a corner to the left, disappearing briefly behind the fence that ran down the edge of the motel's perimeter. Valkas moved out onto the sidewalk, his eyes going for the Executor, who was making his way past the shopfronts next door. There was a café here, where several people were seated outside, having been enjoying their breakfasts. Now, they were recoiling in terror, stumbling out of their chairs and racing for cover at the sight of the alien and the viscuous purple blood that poured out of the hole in his stomach.

Valkas did not take a shot now. There were too many civilians in close proximity, not to mention that Valkas was not one to shoot a person in the back, no matter who they were. As he jogged after the Executor, a passing car ground to a halt on the road, the driver's attention diverted to the unusual sight. A small crowd was outside the shops now, keeping their distance as the Executor stumbled over tables and chairs before finally ending up on the road itself. Now Valkas took aim, stopping about ten metres from the wounded alien officer.

The Executor had his back turned, seemingly oblivious to the crowd that was forming. He was in the middle of the road, stumbling along, unsure of where to go.

"Turn around!" Valkas barked, his voice echoing down the street. The Executor stopped and spun around, one hand still at his bleeding gut. He still carried his gun, yet he did not raise it right away, not when Valkas had him dead to rights. Here he was, caught in the open with nowhere left to run. Maybe the people in charge would want this one taken alive? Valkas had no intention of keeping this monster around.

The Executor brought up his gun then, a snarl escaping his mouth as he made the move. Valkas already had his finger on the trigger, given all the excuse he needed to put down this foe. The Executor had made his decision to die here, and Valkas was happy to oblige him.

He fired a volley from his MP9 machine pistol, the rounds tearing through the Executor, causing him to convulse sharply from each impact before he collapsed into the centre of the road, blood spurting from the several new holes that had been shot through him. People to Valkas' left screamed and others drew back in terror. The barrel of the gun still smoking, Valkas lowered it, surveying the dead alien for a moment, making sure he was staying down. And then he turned around to the small crowd that had gathered, and the many frightened human faces he saw. He caught his own reflection in the glass window of the café, his distinctly Calsharan features uncovered and visible for all to see.

"What's the matter with you people?" He asked aloud, unable to help but smirk at the sheer insanity of the situation. "You never seen an alien before?"

* * *

Valkas found Joanne where he had left her, except she was awake now and seated on the bed in the motel room. She had wet a towel during his brief absence and was using it to dab lightly at her bruised left eye. At a glance, she looked a mess. Two black eyes for one, not to mention bruising at the temple and the jaw. She had since stemmed the blood that had been seeping out of her nostrils, although there was a good chance that her nose may have been broken as well. Her left eye was half-closed, partially swollen from the bruising. It pained him to see her like this, and he regretted right away not having accompanied her on her 'reconaissance'. As for her stump of a pinky finger, the wound had mostly cauterised, so very little blood seeped from what would otherwise have been a very bloody injury.

"Don't blame yourself," she croaked, as he walked in. She had seen the look he had given upon seeing her and had known what it meant. "We didn't know what we'd be walking into." She wiped some of the smeared blood from her face with the cloth, settling her attention upon Valkas. "Did you get him?"

"He won't be a problem anymore," Valkas replied. Joanne nodded in acknowledgment. The Calsharan walked up to her, before he set himself down upon the end of the bed, just next to her. For a moment there, neither of them said anything. Valkas looked about the wrecked room, at the three dead aliens lying inside, the dark purple blood that had been splattered onto the walls and floors and the blinds that had been over the window. Outside, he could make out the sound of police and ambulance sirens. Someone around here had managed to get the word out, which certainly saved the two of them the trouble from doing so themselves.

"This whole thing…" Joanne sighed, one hand cradling her aching jaw. "I mean, this is my fault."

"What?" Valkas frowned. Not only did Joanne look completely messed up, but she appeared miserable. Disappointed even, regretful perhaps. "How can this be your fault?"

"I shouldn't have been put on this mission," she replied. She turned to him, meeting his eyes. "You must have heard about the accident I was in? A training flight that went wrong?"

"I've heard mention of it," Valkas said. "Why? What's that got to do with where we are now?"

"Everything, maybe." Joanne looked down at the floor beneath her feet, pondering what to add. "I mean to say, that I probably shouldn't even be here. I screwed up, Val. Before I was put onto the stargate program, I was going for a flight leader position on one of the newer starships. I was going to be in charge of a flight of F-302s, or more likely, the newer F-306s. It was something I wanted more than anything."

"Something went wrong?"

"Obviously, otherwise I wouldn't be here if it went right." Joanne huffed, a disappointed noise from what Valkas could gather. "I screwed up. I was reckless, scraped another pilot's wing. Could have killed him, could have even killed us both. I blew my chance at getting that role."

Valkas had spoken to Joanne much in the past, although until recently, those conversations had been very much work-related. It had not been until the last few weeks that things had taken on a more personal focus, and the last few days had become even more so. Sure, it was unusual, Valkas knew, to have feelings like he had for a human woman, but they were there and there was no denying them.

"The only reason I didn't get demoted to flying cargo planes, or simply kicked out of the Force, was because my father stepped in. He's a bigshot General. Maybe I told you?"

"No, I don't think you mentioned this."

"He came in and he made sure I stayed in the Air Force. Apparently, he's friend with General Janssen, and Janssen was looking for candidates for the team. Naturally, I became one of them. I screwed up, and I got rewarded for it. With a team, with a mission and a real purpose. And it all went to shit." Joanne put a hand to her face, and she briefly closed her eyes and shook her head, as if she could not believe it. "I shouldn't be here. I don't deserve to be here. Someone else should have been in my place, someone with a cleaner record than I. Someone who doesn't screw up on the level I do."

Valkas put an arm around her, and he found that Joanne moved into his touch. There was no hesitation from her, despite their obvious differences.

"I just don't think I have it in me," Joanne continued. "I wanted to be a flight leader, a squad leader. So far, I don't think I could lead a school band."

"You are being too hard on yourself," Valkas countered. "No one could have foreseen what would happen when we went on this mission. And many would not have been able to handle the kinds of challenges we've faced so far, certainly not with the determination and courage you've displayed. You are the furthest thing from a 'screw-up' I have ever seen, Joanne." He meant every word of it, of course. Joanne looked up at him, her eyes meeting with his, and she smiled. It appeared to light up her entire face, making her injuries appear somewhat less severe than they really were, at least for a moment.

"That's probably the nicest thing anyone's said to me," Joanne said. "At least, the nicest thing I've heard in years."

"Come on, Joanne." Valkas slowly rose to his feet, helping her up with him, arm still around her. "We need to find you some proper medical help." As he started for the door, he heard footsteps approaching from outside. Multiple sets, moving rapidly and he tensed for a moment. His free hand reached for the gun at his waist, as he half-expected more of the aliens to come charging inside. Instead, Malcolm Barrett appeared, flanked by two NID operatives. Barrett stopped in the doorway, regarding the pair before him and the carnage present within the motel room. His eyes settled upon Valkas' visibly non-human appearance, and where many might have appeared surprised and startled, Barrett simply nodded his head as if he finally understood something.

"I see the SGC still includes aliens in its employment policy?" He commented.

"The Captain here is injuried," Valkas announced. The other two operatives stepped forwards, and Valkas passed her over to them. "See to it that she receives the help she requires." The operatives helped her out of the room, with Joanne offering the Calsharan one last glance before she left. It was a grateful look, with the slightest hint of a smile at her lips. Once she was gone, Barrett approached Valkas, a grim expression appearing on his own features.

"This is going to be hard to cover-up," he stated.

"Will you even bother?" Valkas asked. The question hung in the air for a moment more than it probably should have, and Barrett appeared uncertain, the awkward silence between them saying more than any mere words could convey.


	51. Return to Sender

**Return to Sender  
**April 3rd, 2022

Aithris was significantly easier to deal with than Cassalis. Unlike the female Calsharan, this so-called 'Nomad' answered each question that was asked of him in detail, and he was surprisingly courteous. The only issue that Woolsey had was with what he was actually being told, as all of it sounded ominous and hardly the kind of thing he, or the rest of the IOA for that matter, wanted to hear.

"That entire tract of space," Woolsey said, all while he mulled over much of what he had just been told. "It's bereft of stargates?" They were seated at opposite ends of a bare metal table, the only two inside the sparse interrogation room. Aithris had his hands clasped upon the tabletop, his wrists handcuffed as a precaution. His red eyes regarded Richard Woolsey carefully, his dark blue skin and slightly pointed ears giving him an appearance that, had Woolsey been of a more religious intent, might have been considered vaguely demonic. The alien was dressed in a set of bare grey coveralls, standard prisoner fare, really.

"Either bereft," Aithris replied. "Or they have been deactivated. But I assure you, Woolsey of Earth, that the great enemy resides within that region. The 'valley of darkness', as my people call it. And the Calsharans know this as well, hence why they mobilise."

"Because this enemy is coming back?" Woolsey had made a few notes on his small notebook computer. He did, after all, have reports to write for the IOA. How they would take the knowledge that something horrible was lying in wait within the Milky Way galaxy, well, that was anyone's guess. And Woolsey's guess was that they would not like it, at all.

"They come and go," Aithris said. "And they're due to return, soon enough. That isn't to say that they've been sleeping all this time. They have agents, watchers scattered across the stars. And I suspect they will be very interested in the people of Earth."

Woolsey frowned. Hardly the kind of thing he wanted to hear, and the IOA committee board would be even less favourable towards it.

"Your people have risen to prominence in a very short space of time," Aithris continued. "You have removed major threats from the galaxy and changed the balance of power throughout a large portion of it. Such things would draw the attention of the enemy, that much is clear."

"Have you any proof?" Woolsey asked. "I will, naturally, include all of what you have said in my report to the IOA committee, but do you have proof? As it stands, I can only report it as supposition. Little more than the word of an alien we've only just met, a member of a species we have never encountered before. It won't hold much weight."

"I understand." Aithris nodded his head. "I can only tell you what I know. Proof is hard to come by, unfortunately."

"What about the 'valley'? If we sent a ship there…"

"It likely would never return," Aithris interrupted. "I would not recommend such an action."

Woolsey supposed that just about sealed it. No proof, and apparently it was too dangerous to go out and find some. Was this alien really telling the truth, or was he simply spinning a ripping yarn? And if so, why would he do such a thing? He must have had a vested interest somewhere, a reason why he was so willingly telling them of this nefarious and unknown enemy? According to Doctor Jackson's report, Aithris wanted their help in the coming fight against this enemy. They could hardly do that if they knew nothing about the enemy in question.

"Very well, Aithris." Woolsey rose from his chair and picked up his computer. "I will see what I can do, to improve your accommodations here. In the meantime, I will take all you have told me to the committee and see what they have to say. I cannot guarantee anything, of course. Not without solid proof."

"As you wish, Woolsey." Aithris was very level-headed, a welcome change from Cassalis' arrogance. "But sooner or later, your people will have to make a decision. The Calsharans may be the most prominent threat at this stage, but I can assure you that they will be the least of your concerns when the old enemy finally makes itself known."

More ominous words. Woolsey felt that he had received more than his fair share of those from this alien 'Nomad'. Giving Aithris a curt nod, he turned and went for the door, knocking upon it so that the airman standing guard outside could open it and let him out. Once out in the corridor, Woolsey was almost knocked over by General Janssen, who had been hurrying for the interrogation room, his face creased into a severe frown.

"Woolsey, we've got a situation," Janssen declared.

"Another one?"

"This one's not quite the same as the last few," the General replied. He nodded back down the corridor, a gesture to follow. "Come on, we've got a bit of a walk ahead of us. And we'll be stopping by the brig on the way."

Now, why would they be doing that? Woolsey supposed that he would find out soon enough.

* * *

When they went by the brig, Cassalis had been let out of her cell, no doubt on advance order from Janssen. She was handcuffed, standing between two airmen, both of whom were a few inches shorter than she was. As usual, Cassalis held her head up high, practically sneering at both Janssen and Woolsey as they met her in the corridor outside the brig.

"You're releasing me?" She asked, one brow-ridge raised. "I see you have finally come to your senses."

"Less me, more your own people." Janssen nodded at the two airmen, and both proceeded to shove the Fleet Commander in the general direction of the elevator. "We have a meeting to attend."

"A meeting? With whom?"

"You'll see." Janssen appeared satisfied that he knew something she did not. Woolsey fell into step with the General, and the group bundled into the elevator at the end of the hall. Janssen hit the button for one of the upper levels, specifically one towards the surface.

"What's going on, General?" Woolsey asked him, as the doors slid shut. The elevator started moving in earnest, a fairly slow pace at that, traversing the numerous sub-levels within the mountain complex. Janssen met his gaze, his expression remaining neutral.

"You'll see," he repeated.

* * *

The Calsharans had been sure to make a show of their arrival, something that Woolsey figured was intentional. Situated on a grassy clearing some distance from the mountain itself, a Calsharan landing craft had landed, a sleek grey-metal shape the size of an Osprey, with a wedge-design. By now, it was morning, the sky above a clear blue and the temperature falling somewhere between cool and warm. Birds sang from the trees that surrounded the clearing, seemingly undisturbed by the half a dozen Calsharan soldiers who stood to attention outside the landing craft, all in full armour and all visibly armed.

Woolsey was at the rear of the group as they arrived on the clearing, bringing with them Fleet Commander Cassalis. She appeared pleased to see her people here, as if she had held no doubts whatsoever that they would come for her. At the end of the ramp that had extended from the underbelly of the stationary landing craft, there stood a Calsharan male in a black and grey uniform. He did not visibly carry a gun, rather he stood close to a young female human whom Woolsey had never seen before. She was dressed in a set of desert-coloured fatgiues that carried the emblem of the SGC. The clothes were crumpled, marked with dirt in some places, torn in others. She had been through a lot, this woman, and Woolsey's gaze went to the nametag upon her uniform: TARASOVNA. Now he remembered: Sergeant Natalia Tarasovna had been with Sheppard's team, when they had gone to Ra's fortress. She had been presumed dead on board the Calsharan vessel that had captured the team, so for her to turn up here and now was a stroke of good fortune.

The grass of the clearing was soft underfoot. Woolsey wondered just how many people had seen the alien landing craft descend from the heavens. He supposed that Earth's location in the galaxy was no secret either, if the Calsharans had come here so very easily.

"We have your Commander," Janssen announced, stepping ahead of their group. There was about ten metres space between the two opposing parties. The male Calsharan who stood near the Sergeant nodded his head, one hand gesturing towards the uncertain-looking Natalia.

"And, as promised, your missing soldier," the male Calsharan stated. From the markings on his uniform, he had to be of a somewhat high rank, perhaps even the second-in-command to the Fleet Commander. Woolsey made sure to take some mental notes here, as anything they could learn about the Calsharans could be useful, especially if the worst-case scenario occurred. That scenario was, of course, a full-scale conflict with the Calsharans. From what Woolsey had so far read and been told, Sheppard and his team had done a very good job at antagonising the species.

"Are you sure this is a good idea, General?" Woolsey kept his voice low, leaning closer to the General as he spoke.

"They have one of ours," Janssen replied, his voice equally subdued. "We don't leave our people behind." That was one thing that recent events had been sure to reinforce, that no matter what happened, no one was left behind. And Woolsey had come to agree with this sentiment over the years, all the more reason why McClintock had been shown the door, so-to-speak.

"Please, send the Commander our way." The male Calsharan's voice was level, with no trace of hostility. If anything, he wanted this to go as smoothly as they did. Janssen glanced at the two airmen holding Cassalis by the arms, and after a brief pause he gave them a nod. The male Calsharan officer with the Sergeant let her go then, allowing her to start walking forwards.

Cassalis was released by the two soldiers, and she promptly started to walk away and towards her compatriots. She passed Natalia at the halfway mark, and she made sure to shoot the Sergeant a mean glance as they crossed paths. Natalia ignored her, and instead hurried to a stop by the General. Right away, the two airmen approached her, guiding her away from the exchange and likely to the nearest medical bay.

There was no telling what might have happened to her during her captivity, and from experience the personnel of the SGC had learned to take extra precautions when it came to accepting people, prisoners or otherwise, from other worlds. Quarantine for one, blood-tests and DNA tests and all manner of poking and prodding. This Natalia could easily have been a clone, for all they knew. Maybe one set to blow up after a certain period of time, with the force of a nuclear bomb. It sounded crazy, but for some time Woolsey had come to accept 'crazy' as part of his life. There was no telling what these Calsharans were capable of doing, and from what Woolsey had gleamed they were very technologically sophisticated.

Cassalis stopped by her subordinate. Her hands were still cuffed, and the male Calsharan pulled some kind of device from a pouch at his waist, one that emitted a small red beam that shot from the end and burned through the lock on the cuffs in an instant. They fell away from her wrists, landing smoking upon the grass. Cassalis rubbed her sore wrists, and she exchanged some words with her subordinate that were in a distinctly alien tongue. No translation here, and Woolsey had never been able to quite work out how the stargates were able to pull it off. It had worked well in the Pegasus Galaxy, but for whatever reason these Calsharans were somehow exempt from it. Despite all his time in this field of work, he still had far more questions than he did answers. For every piece of information they uncovered, it brought with it a bunch of new questions.

"I suggest you leave now," Janssen said, his voice carrying well across the clearing. "I suspect you've scared more than a few civilians with your ship. Know that we will not be so welcoming, if you come here again unannounced."

Woolsey might have warned against that kind of talk, especially against a people so visibly dangerous. Cassalis smiled then, bearing her pointed teeth in a way that reminded Woolsey of an alligator sizing up a potential meal.

"If your people ever encounter mine again, then I cannot guarantee that we will grant them the same leeway we did with your missing soldier," Cassalis declared. "You would do well to keep to your own affairs, and not interfere with those you do not understand."

"I think we understand perfectly," Janssen countered. He gritted his teeth. "We understand that you're looking to be the next big troublemakers in the galaxy."

"Us?" Cassalis shook her head. "If anything, we are the ones who will ensure that the people of this galaxy remain safe. As for troublemakers…" She trailed off then, and again she smiled. "If you think we are trouble, then you have a limited understanding of what is truly out there, amongst the stars." With that said, she turned around and started up the ramp. Her second-in-command followed, with the six armoured soldiers marching behind him. They filed onto the ship, and as soon as the last one was aboard, the ramp retracted back into the underbelly of the craft, sealing the exit.

Woolsey and the others watched as the landing legs pulled back into the landing craft and the engines started, a quiet hum as the anti-gravity drives activated. The ship began hovering in place, before a set of thrusters on its underbelly sent it into a gradual ascent. Woolsey watched it, once again taking note of the technology present, as the main engines kicked into life as soon as it had cleared the highest of the nearby trees. There was a loud roar as the landing craft rocketed skywards, the concussive wave from its engines rattling the trees around them and buffeting the clearing with a sudden and strong gust of wind.

Janssen returned his gaze earthwards, and he turned to face Woolsey. His face was contorted into a hard scowl.

"We're going to have problems with them," he said, before he swivelled about and started on the walk back to the complex. Woolsey looked back up at the clear blue sky, with no trace to be seen of the Calsharan landing craft. Somewhere up there, locked in orbit, was their vast war-cruiser, the same one Sheppard and his team had mentioned in their reports. The kind of ship that could reduce the surface of the planet to an ashen wasteland.

"We need to be ready," Woolsey said aloud, to no one in particular. Janssen was already several metres away, as were the airmen who had accompanied them. Woolsey adjusted his tie with one hand before he hurried after them, itching to jot down everything that he had just seen and heard.

* * *

It was a little while later that Woolsey found himself in Janssen's office within the SGC. The complex was quiet at this particular hour, and the clean-up crews were still going about patching up the damage caused by the unwelcome alien incursion the evening before. Even the conference table had not been spared, and the once smooth wood had been marred with scorch marks, where sizeable chunks had been blown out of it by either bullets or alien energy weapons. The transparent glass star-map that served as a window between the General's office and the conference room had been shattered, presumably by more stray rounds.

Janssen had been on the phone whilst Woolsey had remained seated across the desk from him. He had heard the General's side of the conversation clearly enough to know that something very troubling had occurred, and all this after an already troubling series of events.

"That settles it, then," the General said, as he set the phone back upon its base. "The alien Field Marshall is dead, and most of his soldiers are as well."

"That's good news." Apparently, Janssen did not feel the same way. The man's expression was grim, and Woolsey knew that there was more to the report than a simple confirmation of success.

"Somehow, the Field Marshall rigged the transmitter at Area 51 to broadcast a signal on subspace," Janssen added. "He accessed all of our most top-secret records. Design documents, personnel files, technical schematics, you name it. Every secret of the Stargate Program and every other project under its umbrella, he gained access to all of it. And he broadcast the whole lot through that signal. A last-ditch effort to screw us over."

"That means…"

"That means that out there, a whole lot of bad people could have got hold of some very sensitive information. Only the societies advanced enough to utilise subspace, which would limit who can even receive the signal. Thankfully, our team was able to neutralise the transmitter before it could complete it broadcast. There's no telling how far the signal went, and how much was transmitted before it stopped. It's something we'll have to keep in mind."

Nothing was safe anymore. For all they knew, some enemy of theirs out there now had all their technical schematics of the several starships that protected Earth. Not to mention all the research conducted on Zero Point Modules, the kind of technology that could easily be misused. It was a worrying, even sobering, thought that all of this may very well have been sent to everyone in the galaxy with an advanced enough receiver.

The phone started ringing then. The black one specifically, intended for outside calls. Janssen picked it up quickly and put it against his ear, stony-faced as he listened to what was said.

"I understand. Do we know anymore than this?" He frowned. "That's it? Very well, then. Thank you for informing me." He put the phone down, the exchange over within moments. The look on his face was as grim as it had been for much of the past half hour. Woolsey wondered what other crisis was now in progress, and whether or not the bad day would ever end.

"I just heard some unfortunate news about our mutual friend McClintock," Janssen said. "He was killed in a car accident about half an hour ago. Wrapped his sedan around a tree. He was more than likely killed on impact."

Woolsey was surprised to hear this. McClintock worked for him, sure, but the man had been working for others outside the IOA, undermining the organisation as a whole. It was the reason why he had been relieved of his duties in the SGC. The fact that he was dead, so soon after…Well, Woolsey was not a paranoid man by any stretch, but even he found some coincidences a bit too hard to believe. Judging from Janssen's stern face, he appeared to be thinking along similar lines.

"That's…" Woolsey was momentarily at a loss for words. "That is unfortunate." He had hardly known the man enough to have any real reaction to the news. "Do you think…?"

"I think there is more to what's going on here than meets the eye," Janssen interrupted. The look in his eyes spoke volumes, and it was apparent then that he did not for a second believe the official story about a car accident. Just another problem to add to the ever-growing list: The Field Marshall, his signal, the Calsharans and now a conspiracy. After so many years of a peaceful galaxy, it appeared that everything was going bad all at once. Woolsey supposed this was typical of his luck, yet all the more reason to become as heavily involved with the stargate program as he had once been.

* * *

When the _Sword of Calshara_ entered hyperspace, Cassalis was already settling back into her office. She was dressed in a fresh uniform, a welcome change from the human-made cloths she had been forced to wear for the last day or so. Being amongst them had made her feel filthy enough, and the first thing she had done upon coming aboard was bathe. And she had done so _thoroughly_.

It was only minutes after she had sat back down upon her desk that Toron had entered. She had to credit the Lieutenant, he had made use of the human to get his Commander back and with a minimum of bloodshed. That still did not make up for the soldiers that had been killed by the human, Sheppard, and his team. Sooner or later, that debt would have to be paid. For now, she had greater concerns.

"Lieutenant," she said, looking up at him as he entered. "I must thank you for what you did. I never had any doubts that you would come after me. I will be sure to write a glowing report about your conduct during this crisis."

"That is much appreciated, Commander." Toron gave her a nod. "I came to inform you of a few things. Firstly, there is a Knight from the Vigilants of Varondaar aboard. He insisted on interviewing the human, although he neglected to mention why."

"Typical." Cassalis snorted. Those Vigilants were an odd bunch, and what irked her most about them was how they were not bound by the same sets of rules the rest of them were. They had their secrets, too many in fact. Cassalis had often thought that maybe one day, if she was ever in the position, she might try unearthing some of those secrets herself. Digging around the archives for information on what the Vigilants really did was a sure way to get yourself arrested, but one day she would find out what was really going on with them. She would make sure of it.

"Secondly, something unusual occurred not too long ago that you will no doubt be interested in. It happened shortly after we entered Earth's orbit."

Cassalis quirked one brow-ridge, curious. Whatever it was, it could not have been life-threatening. If anything, Toron appeared a little confused about it.

"What might that be, Lieutenant?"

"A signal, Commander. A powerful subspace burst that lasted only several seconds, but brought with it a great deal of information." Toron used one hand to gesture to the holographic computer display hovering over her desk. "I have forwarded the contents of the signal to your terminal, and I already have some of our technical experts sifting through it. So far, we have determined that the contents are not dangerous, so no computer viruses. They are, in fact, Earth in origin."

Now her attention really was piqued. Cassalis tapped a few keys at her display, bringing up the latest information packet received at her terminal. As suspected, it was the contents of the signal burst, and from what she could tell there was a lot there. Patchy as it was, with parts of documents missing, as if the signal had been interrupted partway. Still, there was plenty here to sort through, all of it written in the human tongue, and all of it emblazoned with some very official-looking symbols.

"Intriguing," Cassalis said aloud, as she began reading the first of the documents.

"Do you need anything else, Commander?"

"Not at the moment. Return to your duties." Cassalis barely gave the Lieutenant a second glance as he saluted her, before he turned and left the room. Instead, the Fleet Commander found herself engrossed in the first of what she assumed to be many secrets from the humans of Earth. It appeared that providence had smiled upon her, a relief coming after the humiliation of being taken captive by humans.


	52. The Beginning

**The Beginning  
**April 10th, 2022

"Colonel John Sheppard." Janssen eyed the man himself over the top of the report. Seated across from him at the desk, Sheppard was dressed in a set of clean green fatigues, complete with rank insignia. He sat quietly, eyes watching the General across the desk from him expectantly. The General's office was tidy, the transparent star-map behind Sheppard having been replaced. Some semblance of normality had returned to the SGC, and it was a welcome change.

"I've been over the reports," Janssen continued. "All of them. Yours, Captain Bowers', Doctor Jackson's and even the one Valkas wrote, which was about as understated as you'd expect it to be. He has a surprisingly good grasp of English idioms, nonetheless."

"I guess cable television is good for something, sir."

"That may be so." Janssen set the papers down before him. Elsewhere, the clean-up within the SGC was near complete. Even the conference table had been replaced, although the table in question was very much identical to the old one. It looked newer, certainly, with a factory-fresh sheen upon it and that 'new item' smell that was likely to fade after the first few weeks. The gate-room was also clean, the walls patched and repaired, the bloodstains scrubbed away. Nary a trace of the battle remained.

"The situation was resolved as well as could be, I'd say." Janssen's face remained stern, as if he was not quite as pleased as he said he was. "The IOA has seen fit to redirect some funding back our way. As for the other projects that had been getting what was supposed to come to us, well, I'd wager that whoever's in charge of them isn't too pleased. Money is money, after all."

"As my dad used to say," John stated.

"The recent public revelation that alien life is indeed a very real thing has certainly shaken things up," Janssen continued. "They know of our starships, and the reverse-engineered alien technology used to build them. The fallout will continue for some time, but for the bulk of the human population, life should continue as normal."

John was not too sure about this one. Before this meeting, he had caught part of a news report on the television inside the cafeteria. The Pope had made a statement from the Vatican, declaring it well within reason that God had created the many races among the stars as he had the many species upon the Earth. Not to mention the interviews with scientists, politicians and the like which had been clogging the airwaves, with just about every man and their dog giving their opinion on what had happened. And the President, giving an admittedly well-written speech about this being a 'new dawn' for the human race, the beginning of a new era of cooperation between nations. A speech that had been repeated multiple times over the last few days on the media, and again just about everyone wanted to voice their opinion on it as well.

The world had changed and was still changing. It would be a long time before the final results became apparent. According to polls, trust in the government had dipped to an all-time low. Understandable, in a way. Worrying as well.

"Thing is," Janssen continued, "The stargate itself remains a secret. And I suspect it will stay that way for a long time to come. Ships are one thing, alien terrorists another, but a portal to other worlds? Even other galaxies?" He slowly shook his head. "The general population can only take so much crazy at any one time."

"So, this additional funding, General? Does that mean…?"

"It means we will be back in full operation, or at least close enough to it," Janssen finished. "That means we will need more teams. SG-teams, to be exact." He paused, briefly, allowing this statement to hang in the air between them for effect. John suspected he knew what was coming next, but despite his feelings on the matter he retained a level exterior.

With one hand, Janssen pulled open a drawer at his desk, and from inside he retrieved four distinctly circular patches backed with Velcro. Familiar patches at that, John realised, as the General placed them upon the desk before him.

"We know there are new threats out there, Colonel," Janssen said. "Perhaps even one we cannot properly comprehend, if that 'Nomad' is telling us the truth. We need a new frontline defence, a new spearhead for offence. For several years, the title 'SG-1' was put aside, as the team was no longer in operation. They had all gone their separate ways, and my predecessor thought it inappropriate to create a new team with the same name. When I took this job, our funding was already being reduced, and in turn the number of SG-teams in active combat roles. With this new lease on life for the program, and with what we've experienced recently, I think now is as good a time as any to finally bring back 'SG-1' as the first of the new guard. And for team leader, you are my first choice. I will leave selecting the other members for you, but I think you and I both know who you're going to choose."

Sheppard looked at the arm patches, a moment's hesitation before he picked them up. This was not quite the way he had envisioned it, and it was far from the triumphant return to the Pegasus galaxy he had wanted. However, if the main threats were here in the Milky Way, then he would gladly take this new role. Earth was their home, and the likes of the Calsharans and the ancient 'enemy' could very well strike at it at anytime. One foe already had, and the Field Marshall and his people had almost succeeded in creating the chaos they desired. In a way, the Field Marshall had won, in the end; he had changed the world, even if it had not been quite the way he had intended.

"I don't expect you to come back to work straight away," Janssen continued. "You've been through a lot, as has the rest of your team. Take a week off, even two, then report in for your first assignment as leader of SG-1. Both Valkas and Captain Bowers are already on vacation."

"Valkas is on vacation?" John frowned. How could they get away with letting an alien go on vacation? That said, just where had he gone on vacation to?

"Within our reach, of course." Janssen gave a shrug. "If they're taking time off, then you should do the same. You've done enough already, Colonel."

John nodded in understanding. They were just getting started, really, and now was not the time he would have chosen to go on leave. Still, the General had a point. If things were as bad as they seemed, then now would probably be the last real chance he had to go on vacation.

"I appreciate this, General. Really." John rose to his feet, arm-patches in hand. Going headlong back into the action, he would not have had it any other way.

"Send confirmation through once you've chosen your team," Janssen ordered. "In the meantime, enjoy your time off. I suspect you'll need it."

* * *

It was not the most romantic location, but for Joanne Bowers, it was adequate. The room's interior was cool, the air bearing a slight musty smell, some surfaces within covered with a layer of dust. Such was the nature of a cheap motel, not that it mattered. She was not entirely the picture of perfect health, as her face was still bruised in places and a few small bandages covered the worst of the cuts on her face. Regardless, Valkas had been able to help her forget all about the aches and pains her injuries brought, and how unsavoury they made her appear. Somewhere nearby, the Calsharan's personal playlist, plugged into the tablet computer on the nightstand, shifted onto a strangely familiar song, just one of many the alien had taken a liking to.

Joanne was pressed up against the muscular bulk of that very Calsharan, lingering in the afterglow of a very intimate cross-species encounter. With the bedsheets drawn up over both of them, she found herself rolling onto her side, feeling the heat emanating from Valkas' smooth, scaly skin. He turned to face her, offering her a smile, one hand wrapping itself around her waist, pulling her in even closer. Their mouths met in a deep, extended kiss, before he pulled his head back and reached up with his hand to trace the errant srands of hair that had fallen over her forehead.

"Is this how humans spend their holidays?" He asked her, his voice playful.

"Sometimes." Joanne smiled back at him. It was about as private as it could get in here, the blinds drawn and the door locked. Valkas had snuck into the room wearing a hood and sunglasses, and once inside he had promptly stripped her and himself. They had both known what they wanted, and they had wasted no further time in getting it.

"I think I could get used to it," Valkas replied. Again, he kissed her, and she returned the gesture strongly. Then he was pressing his weight against her, pinning her to her back, before hovering over her with a predatory glint in his amber eyes.

* * *

Somewhere far away, behind closed doors and security checkpoints and countless armed guards, a man by the name of Holt came before a large table occupied by another, older man whose face was hidden by shadow. Wood-paneled metal walls surrounded them, blue light seeping off of exotic wall fittings, setting a subdued glow over most of the room. It was large, occupied by a central conference table that was surrounded by about eight seats, seven of which were vacant. Holt had not normally come here, rather his communications to his superiors were via radio or other non-direct means. Anything that prevented a face-to-face meeting. So, to be here now, with the Old Man right before him, was unnerving and worrisome. Yet still, he could not see the man's face. A deliberate arrangement, no doubt.

"There's no telling what got out on that subspace burst," Holt explained. He clasped his hands behind his back, hoping his uniform was as immaculately set as he had left it before walking in here. "The whole project could be compromised. As for the people at the SGC, they have won over much of the IOA. Funding is being redirected."

"How much will this set us back?" The Old Man's voice was raspy, a result of decades spent smoking regularly. Holt saw his hands, the fingers slim and spindly, wrinkled and weathered with age. They were set calmly upon the table before him, interlocking somewhat.

"Some months, maybe. Unless we can procure funding from other sources."

"And our man on the inside?"

"Disposed of, as you ordered." Holt had seen to this personally. "He was compromised. Now, if you allowed me to make a go for Janssen…"

"No, no. That will not be necessary." He could see the shape of the Old Man's balding head slowly shaking, his face still cast in darkness. "We cannot overextend ourselves. Not yet. Allow this new Stargate Program to go on, as I feel it may net us some useful results. It has in the past, and none of what we have achieved these past years would have been possible without it."

"Sir?"

"The recent alien attack has more people clamoring for security and protection. Perhaps, if given enough time, those running the stargate program will further this situation to such an extent, that when we make ourselves known, the people will _want_ us in their lives. I, and others upon the committee, agree that it is best that we adopt a 'wait and see' approach at this stage. In the meantime, continue operating as normal. The Project is close enough to completion that we can afford some leniency on these things."

Holt did not entirely agree, but he was not being paid to argue with his superiors. He nodded his head in understanding of these instructions, keeping his mouth shut in the process. As he watched, he heard the unmistakable sound of a lighter being ignited, and a flame appeared amongst the dark, casting the bottom half of the Old Man's face in wavering orange light. Wrinkled and weathered, like the rest of him. A man well on his way to his final years, yet still clinging on to life, likely through some unnatural means of alien origin.

"We would not want to draw any further attention to ourselves, after all." Putting a cigarette to his mouth, he lit the tip, grey smoke pluming forth. And then the flame was gone, what little insight Holt had received on the man's identity going with it. For a moment, Holt thought he heard a whispering in the dark, faint and easy to miss, a noise gone in seconds. Then he heard it again, but it sounded more like a chittering, as if an insect scuttled in the shadows. Nothing more was said between them and Holt, feeling distinctly unnerved, swiveled about on his heels and strode out of the room.

* * *

Aithris, custodian of the secrets of the remnants of the people of Varalan (colloquially known to many as 'Nomads'), sat quietly within the cell that served as his accommodations within Stargate Command. He was dressed in a set of dull grey coveralls, the drab colour scheme going well with his dark blue skin. Deep underground as he was, it was hard to determine exactly what time it was, save for the old analogue clock that sat on the wall outside his cell. And even that seemed to lie, as it did not feel like ten o'clock in the morning.

He had been asleep, dreaming dreams that consisted of memories of his childhood, albeit hazy and warped and likely far removed from what had really happened. A high-pitched whine woke him up then, and a piercing pain worked its way through his skull as a long dormant implant kicked into life after so many years. He woke up with a start, his eyes going towards the far corner of his cell where the air appeared to warp and wobble. A blue shimmer appeared, flickering sporadically, gradually forming the shape of a person. Several seconds passed as the image took form. Before he knew it, a partially transparent image of an old acquaintance of his appeared, wearing the grey uniform and deep blue coat of a member of the ruling council of his people. Red eyes locked onto his own, and Aithris felt a growing sense of irritation at the interruption. He rubbed his aching head, the pain subsiding for now. Even so, brainwave transmissions were prone to causing some discomfort, especially if the incoming signal was powerful. And with the vast interstellar distances involved in this one, the transmission was definitely a strong one.

"You are calling me, after all these years?" Aithris snorted in derision. "How touching."

"No games, Aithris." His elder and former superior narrowed his eyes. "Exile or not, you are in the best place to serve our order. This is important. Listen carefully."

* * *

John had expected to find Daniel in his study, and that was indeed where he was. Doctor Jackson had made himself at home here, much in the same way he had years before when he had first joined SG-1. Bookshelves lined the walls and documents were scattered over the central table and nearby desk, with the man himself seated at the computer in the middle of it all. As John walked inside, Daniel looked up at the intrusion and slowly rubbed his eyes underneath his spectacles. He was tired, and knowing of Daniel's reputation, he had likely gone without sleep for some time.

"You wasted no time settling in," John said, as he walked inside.

"Most of this stuff was in storage," Daniel replied. He picked up the mug sitting upon the desk by him, intending to sip whatever coffee was inside. Unfortunately, it was empty, and he put it back down with a disappointed grimace. "I just had to have it brought out. They weren't doing much with my old room, so I was able to make it my own again. Just like old times."

"Just like them." John walked up to the desk. Daniel had been hard at work, this much was clear, and he had all manner of documents open before him. Photos of obscure stone carvings and texts, each covered in notes written in hurried handwriting that John himself could not properly decipher. The handwriting of a man in search of answers, aware that time was not on his side.

"Any luck?" John asked him.

"No." Daniel's reply was short and succinct. "There's no mention of this 'valley of darkness' in any of the Ancient texts we've encountered. And it stands to reason they'd be the ones who created it. They shut out an entire section of the galaxy from the stargate network. Why would they do that? There's got to be a good reason."

"What about the 'enemy'?"

"The one Aithris mentioned?"

"The one and only."

Daniel sighed. He shook his head, before leaning back in his chair and taking his glasses off. As expected, he appeared shockingly different without them on.

"It's as if they don't exist," Daniel said. "But they have to. There's a reason why a whole swathe of the galaxy is without working stargates. There has to be."

"I'm sure the answers will come eventually," John said. What else could he say? This kind of intensive research was not his thing. Doing what Daniel did, for the hours he did, would have been likely to send him insane. "In the meantime, I think I have something that may interest you." He pulled one of the SG-1 arm-patches out of his pocket and dropped it upon the desk, where it landed face-up right before Daniel.

There was a noticeable pause as Daniel looked down at it, a look of surprise briefly crossing his face. He picked it up in one hand, turning it over and then back again, examining it with a careful eye with his glasses now back in place. The eye of an archaeologist, as if the arm-patch was some kind of ancient artefact unearthed from the depths of some pit somewhere.

"Is this…?" He began, but John was quick to interrupt him.

"Reinstatement," John said. "I can think of no one better suited for it."

Daniel nodded his head, even if his expression suggested some degree of uncertainty.

"We cut it pretty close," he said, as he set the arm-patch down. "With the Field Marshall. The bomb, the transmission. Everything."

"And we're going to make sure that it won't happen again," John countered. He put out a hand, an offer to shake, something that he had neglected weeks before when they had first been brought together after so many years apart. Here and now, Daniel took the offered hand, shaking it firmly. It was all the confirmation John needed.

* * *

April 27th, 2022

John found himself once again in the embarkation room. The stargate's inner ring was spinning at its usually steady pace, one chevron locking into place as he watched it move. Hydraulics hissed and white smoke billowed forth. Behind him, Daniel was doing one last check of his equipment vest, making sure that everything, including his energy bars, were where they should be. Joanne was to his left, standing with her MPX submachine gun relaxed across her chest, eyes set on the stargate ahead. Her left hand carried only a small bandage over where her little finger had been, but the lack of that particular digit had made little change to her overall hand dexterity.

"_Chevron five encoded."_ The chief technician's voice sounded throughout the room's PA system. The stargate's inner ring began to spin once again, moving onto the next chevron.

"Where's Valkas?" Daniel asked suddenly, looking about the room. Aside from a few soldiers standing guard, the Calsharan was noticeably absent. John turned around at Daniel's question, and as if on cue, the burly alien came striding in through one of the nearby doors. He was in full combat gear, a combat shotgun slung around one shoulder.

"Sorry I'm late." He offered the Colonel a nod. "I had to use the bathroom." His eyes drifted to Joanne, and he smirked. She returned the gesture, ever so slightly, before shifting her gaze away from the late team member.

"_Chevron six encoded."_

The first proper mission with the new SG-1. A reconnaissance trip to an unexplored world, with a breathable atmosphere and a whole lot of rainforest. To John, it felt oddly surreal to be here again, after all that had happened. It did not feel right, being 'SG-1'. Yet someone had to be in the team, and John supposed it best he be in it instead of someone else.

His eyes drifted up to the window at the control room, and there General Janssen stood watching the group. The man gave him a slight nod, one that John returned. A routine mission. Yet, how could any of them go back to 'routine' after what they had been through? He supposed it would be 'routine' until the next world-endangering crisis, anyway.

"I hope this place isn't too dull," Joanne remarked.

"Dull?" John shook his head. "Knowing our luck, we'll probably run into some alien monstrosity."

Was he about to step right back into the same kind of chaos as he had often done so, back in the Pegasus galaxy? It occurred to him that for all the dangers, all the brushes with death, he liked it. More than he would probably admit.

"_Chevron seven locked."_ The stargate's vortex exploded into life, the plume of swirling energy falling back in upon itself before settling into the water-like standing pool that served as the wormhole's entrance.

"_SG-1, you are a go."_ Janssen's voice echoed throughout the chamber, sounding out of the PA system.

John offered one last, parting salute to the General, who was up in his perch in the control room. With that done, John turned around and began striding up the ramp. The rest of the team followed. As a whole, they stepped on through the wormhole together. Somewhere out there were the answers they sought, but before then, there was a long road ahead. And by the end of that journey, none of them would be quite the same.

* * *

**END (for now)**

* * *

**Note: **A 'new' team, new enemies, new status quo and a new beginning. Because, really, this story was always simply the start of what I have planned. Consider this only the first 'volume'. And even if only a handful of people join me for the whole journey, then I feel it will have been worth it. As for Volume 2, it'll come when it's done. The rapid updates on this one were a result of having the story practically done when I started posting, and given it's length I felt three chapters a week would work well.

As for things such as the current whereabouts of other TV show characters and the state of Earth's defences (ships and the like, even the city of Atlantis), those are things I intend to explore in further volumes, and in ways you may not really expect. For the first 'volume, however, I thought it best to keep things relatively 'down to Earth', and even that ended up a 250,000 word story.

Nonetheless, I appreciate all comments, and I hope you enjoyed the story. I also hope that you'll stick around for what comes next, whenever that is.


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